Staying Here Is Everything Life Demands
by ringaroundtherollins
Summary: Roman Reigns, Dean Ambrose and Seth Rollins have reunited as the Shield 2.0, and they're ready for WrestleMania. Amidst the physical combats against their enemies, old and new, demons of the past come back to haunt them. Faith is tempted, love is tried and hope struggles to stay afloat. Can the Shield stay together with so many chinks in their armor? Ambreigns & Ambrollins galore.
1. Chapter 1

**Guess who's back, back...back again...Savannah's back...tell a friend. :D**

 **What's up, you crazy awesome people! I am back. After taking a little time to brainstorm and call for assistance, I think I'm on the right track for where I want this story to go! So here it is, Shield 2.0's return and journey going into WrestleMania. Not only will they take on enemies, new and old, but also their own personal demons...and even each other. Can't wait for you to read it! Please let me know what you think!**

 **Special thanks to penelo14, Dana1, 2345Nayababy, and Debwood for all the advice, ideas, and editing skills! You guys are the greatest, and I might have given up completely if it hadn't been for your support. Seriously, thank you.**

 **With that, carry onto the story~**

* * *

 **Days Until WrestleMania: 24**

Seth Rollins watched the main event from ringside. Dean Ambrose was facing against Sheamus in a match that had been glamorized and promoted throughout the entire program, and now as SmackDown drew to a close, all that was left was watching Dean and Sheamus take each other on. Seth stood in place, arms folded tight across his chest, refusing to pace. If he gave into his urge to move around, he might have lost control of himself and jumped into the ring to protect Dean, if necessary. But he trusted Dean to take care of himself.

Sheamus was hostile in this match, even more so than the Celtic Warrior typically acted. He drilled his pale, mohawk-capped head into Dean's stomach and propelled him back against the ropes, driving his fist again and again into Dean's gut. Dean wasn't giving up quite yet. Seth admired him for that. Dean wasn't a quitter. He never walked away and never just left a match.

Dean straightened himself up, swinging from a defensive position to offensive. He knocked his right fist into the side of Sheamus's head, then his left fist, right again, left again, pushing Sheamus back towards the center of the ring. With a good amount of distance between them, Dean rushed back to launch himself off the ropes. As he charged forward again, powered by the bounce off the ropes, Sheamus met him in the middle with a brogue kick. His foot stabbed Dean in the neck, and Dean collapsed to the ground. Sheamus pinned Dean, gripping his leg tight and snarling, casting saliva from his mouth. The ref struck the mat once…twice…Dean kicked out. The audience gasped. Seth merely smirked. He wasn't surprised. Dean could make it out of a lot of shit by himself.

Off towards Seth's right was Roman Reigns, pacing back and forth like a lion. He looked ready to jump into that ring any second and kick the Celtic Warrior's pasty white arse. If there was anything anyone could do to set off the even-tempered Samoan, it was cause any sort of harm to Dean. Seth could admit to that same foible. But entering the match at this point would have given Sheamus a victory, the result of a disqualification. Neither of them wanted that for Dean. It was a fight in itself not to interfere.

Dean rolled over, confounded eyes rolling to meet Seth's, then Roman's. Seth gritted his teeth. "Come on, Dean," he encouraged aloud. He was more vocal about his unease than Roman was. He clapped his hands together and said, "Let's go. Get up." He trusted Dean to take care of himself completely. It was just hard _not_ worrying about the guy.

His love for Dean could be denied to anyone else but himself. Roman knew of Seth's soft spot. He didn't seem to hold it against Seth, almost as though Roman himself denied it as well.

The fact that Roman and Dean were together— _together_ together—didn't seem to put that fire in his heart out.

So denial was his only way out.

Sheamus wasn't done. He knocked Dean in the head with his shoe, rolling him over and away from Seth and Roman. Seth caught Roman flinching, catching himself before he moved onto the mat. Dean scrambled to grab the middle rope. Sheamus kicked him again. This somehow recharged Dean's strength and he sprouted to his feet, hurled himself against the ropes for potency, and knocked Sheamus down with a mighty punch to his jaw. While Sheamus recovered on the ground, Dean shimmied up the ropes and perched himself atop the post, enlarging his eyes, taking his breaths in and out through his bared teeth. Seth grinned. Dean was crazy. They didn't call him the Lunatic Fringe for nothing. Ambrose Asylum had come to town.

He cast himself at Sheamus while the Irishman staggered to his feet. Dean pinned him there with Sheamus's leg in the air and an arm pressing Sheamus's shoulder to the mat. Seth's hand clenched into a bracing victorious fist. The ref counted to two before Sheamus kicked out. Seth uncurled his fingers and huffed. _Dammit_. Dean shoved hair from his face, clearly irritated.

Sheamus kneed Dean in the back, then swept the boy into his arms as Dean fell forward. Sheamus raised Dean and projected him through the ropes. Dean's chin clipped the announcer's table, and he dropped to the floor. The audience shouted in dread. Roman couldn't stay still. He rushed over to Dean to check on him. As long as he didn't hit Sheamus, the ref wouldn't call interference. Seth understood this and followed behind Roman. Dean was already up by the time Roman and Seth arrived. Sheamus charged over, knocking Seth and Roman out of the way as he seized a hold on Dean again. Seth hit the floor, his left arm breaking his fall. Pain unfurled from his elbow to his fingertips. He clenched his arm tight.

Roman jogged over and helped Seth up. "You okay?" he asked.

"Fine," Seth groaned. _Kick his ass, Ambrose_.

Dean allowed Sheamus to get two punches to the face in before Dean hit him back. Dean drove Sheamus back towards the ring with punches, then held the back of Sheamus's head and propelled it into the pole. The pillar reverberated with an audible _ding_ as Sheamus collapsed to the floor, unmoving.

Dean stalked the grounds of the ring, round and round, while the ref called out each number. If he reached ten before Sheamus reentered the ring, he'd lose. Sheamus teetered to his feet. His white skin had darkened to a deep red. He stormed back into the ring at the count of eight. Dean was ready for him. Dean finished Sheamus off with Dirty Deeds, going to the ground with a swift kick and taking the Celtic Warrior down with him.

"Yeah, Dean!" Seth called out.

Dean raised Sheamus's leg and held him there until the official made the final call. Dean Ambrose's name was called over the microphone as the winner of the match. Sheamus remained on the floor, curled up, pounding his fists into the mat in vexation.

It was safe to enter the ring now. Seth scuttled into the ring with Roman to congratulate Dean. Roman got his hug first. It lasted a long while. Seth just chewed the inside of his cheek, waiting for his turn. They seemed to take forever in their embraces, in spite of what others might think watching them. Finally Roman pulled out of the hug, lightly knocked heads with Dean, and rubbed his hair. _Geez, Roman, make it more obvious, why don't you_? Dean looked to Seth and opened his arms. Seth took him in a tight squeeze. He smelled of sweat and declining deodorant, but he didn't care. It felt good to hold him like this, hug him tight—

Dean's music was cut off. The audience's roar went from enlivened to hushed disapproval as the Authority's theme replaced it. Stephanie McMahon and Triple H strode down the walkway together. He'd been so distracted by Dean's match that only then did Seth remember, _right. Tonight's when I find out who's taking me on at WrestleMania_. They'd been saving this "breaking" news for the very end of the night. They'd built up the revelation as sensationally as Dean's match against Sheamus.

Two of the matches for the event had already been revealed. On Raw a few nights ago, Roman was told he'd be battling Kevin Owens for the United States Championship, and it was announced the World's Biggest Athlete would go up against Mark Henry. Dean wasn't part of a match yet, but Seth knew he would be in no time. The Authority would fail if they established matches for Roman and Seth, and not the third crucial member of their group.

Seth knew he'd be defending his title as World Heavyweight Champion at the event. He just wasn't sure against whom yet.

He was about to find out.

Stephanie held a microphone to her red lips. "Rollins," she said. "At the beginning of the night, we informed you that your opponent at WrestleMania for the WWE World Heavyweight Championship would be revealed to you tonight."

Seth nodded. Without a microphone, he couldn't exactly respond to Steph. If he had the opportunity, he'd probably call her a spineless bitch in front of the whole crowd. But he refrained.

"So without further ado, my friend…"

Seth scoffed at her use of the word.

"Here he is."

The sound of her shrilly voice was replaced with roaring music. " _I HEAR VOICES IN MY HEAD, THEY COUNCIL ME, THEY UNDERSTAND, THEY TALK TO ME_ …"

The audience exploded into applause as Randy Orton revealed himself from behind the scenes. Steph and Triple H moved away from each other, creating space between them for Randy to stand. He stared Seth down, grinning.

Seth was shocked. Wasn't Randy a "good guy" now? Or was he back on their side, their new golden boy since Seth reinstated his devotion to the Shield?

"You see, Seth," Triple H said, taking steps towards the ring and waving his hands with the words. "Randy here isn't here to make friends, or make a team with other wrestlers. He isn't here to take sides, or take part in silly feuds, or even to talk into a microphone to get the crowd going, although…" Triple H swung his head back in Randy's direction, then returned facing Seth with a proud smile. "He's pretty damn good at that. No, see, Randy is here for one purpose and one alone: win. He's the kind of guy we need—no, the kind of guy we _deserve_ as a champion. He's strong, he's crafty, he's a hell of a fighter. He is, without a doubt, the future of the WWE."

Seth's jaw dipped towards the floor. Randy Orton, the _future_? Over _him_?

"Now, unless you face him and somehow manage to beat him at WrestleMania," Triple H carried on, placing his fingers to his chest as if the thought alone triggered laughter he had to smother, "then we have faith in our decision."

Seth was shaking. Not in fear—no way in hell was he scared of Randy Orton—but indignation. Did the Authority _really_ think Randy Orton was the future of the WWE over the true champion? They were trying to make Randy the future of the company, again? Didn't they try this once before? _And look how well that worked out, morons_. He almost wanted to laugh if he wasn't so irate.

He clutched his World Heavyweight Championship belt tight against his side, the title he'd managed to hang onto since the last WrestleMania. His most prized possession, the championship he'd bled for, broken over, exhausted himself just to retain.

Roman gave him a look, one of a protective big brother who wouldn't let a thing happen to his little bro. It was comforting, but Seth wasn't feeling threatened. Insulted, yes, but not threatened.

"And for extra kicks," Triple H said. "Why don't we give you a little taste of what's to come here in a few weeks?"

Randy Orton was storming forward like a hurricane before he was done talking. Seth barely had the time to comprehend the whirlwind coming at him until it was too late. Randy sprung over the ropes at Seth. The Shield 2.0—the self-titled name established after the team was back together—was ready.

Roman lifted Randy onto his shoulders to attempt a throw, but Randy hopped off and landed behind Roman. He cast his arm around Roman's throat like a fishing line, turned so their backs were pressed against one another, and rammed him onto the mat, landing on top of him. The force around his neck was enough to make Roman cough and wheeze.

Dean swung his fists at Randy, hitting him several times before Randy drew back and plowed forward like a bull, grabbing Dean and spinning around to power slam him onto the mat. Enraged with fresh vigor, Seth dashed at Randy with a flying kick. It was enough to temporarily stupefy Randy, but not knock him out completely. Instead of blitzing Seth again, Randy knelt down, seized Dean by the air, lifted him to his feet, then flung him over the ropes, onto the hard floor below.

Seth took the bait. He charged at Randy, ready to send up another flying kick. Instead, Randy utilized his signature move on Seth, the RKO—described by the enthusiastic announcers as " _outta nowhere_!"—and Seth smacked against the mat. He'd landed on his arm that already took a good amount of damage from Sheamus's hit. His face twisted in pain.

With enough resting time, Roman flew up and Superman Punched Randy in the face, sending him down. Randy tried to rise after the impact, but Roman let out his infamous yell and Speared Orton. He wasn't getting up too quickly after that hit.

Roman extended a hand towards Seth and helped lift him up. He patted Seth's shoulder in that same big-brother demeanor, and they left Randy behind, dropping out of the ring. Stephanie and Triple H spun on their heels and departed, unfazed by Randy's loss. _Yeah, you better friggin' run_ , Seth thought, his inner voice growling.

Dean was still on the ground. Roman towered over him. "You okay?" he asked, laying a strong hand on Dean's chest.

With a groan, Dean held a thumb up. "Perfect." His snakelike tongue slid between his teeth. Classic Ambrose.

Roman and Seth helped lift Dean to his feet. He wrapped one arm around Seth's shoulder and the other around Roman's waist. Seth pretended he wasn't euphoric about being in Dean's arms—well, arm, but one was better than walking alone—like this. He might have even feigned a little extra weakness, just so Dean would have a more stable hold on him. Dean could look out for him just as often as they looked after Dean.

The team ambled off down the walkway as the announcers wished the WWE Universe good night.


	2. Chapter 2

_What a night_.

Privacy was difficult to obtain shortly after the end of SmackDown. Wrestlers were scattered everywhere backstage, some heading out immediately with the massive crowd of fans, others lingering behind to dodge traffic. Shield 2.0 was caught in the crowd, dodging collisions with every step. One collision, however, couldn't be avoided, as it was intentional. Dolph Ziggler turned up from the horde and caught Dean in a forceful tackle-turned-hug.

"Dean-o!" he cheered. The words "It's Too Bad" screamed bold and white from his shirt. "Great job tonight, man. Way to beat that little leprechaun down." He playfully punched Dean's shoulder, then landed eyes on Roman. "And you! That hit on Orton? Oh man, I felt that from across the room." He held his fist out.

Roman chuckled and knocked his fist against Dolph's. "Thanks, man." After the Shield's reinstatement, other wrestlers were socializing with them more and more. Roman didn't mind. He wasn't a terribly social man, but he appreciated respect.

He expected Dolph to shift some praise onto Seth next, but instead he declared, "Lana and I are hitting up this pub down the street. We're inviting some people to come with us. You in?"

Roman's inclination was to politely decline. He was tired, and they had to catch a flight for Oklahoma early the next morning. He also hadn't had any time alone with Dean since last night.

But Dean looked eager. "That sounds fun. What do you say, Roman?"

Roman looked to Seth. Seth didn't look anymore ready to mingle than he felt. But maybe some drinks and pleasant conversations was just what he needed to unwind. Maybe he deserved it. They all did.

But it did mean a longer wait to get Dean alone. He'd have to take care of that somehow. He had another priority, too.

"Sure, I'm in," Roman agreed.

"Me too," Seth said in sort of an implicit _I'll-go-if-you-go_ deal.

"Fantastic!" Dolph cried. "I'll tell Lana. Oh, and by the way, I have some important news to share with you."

"Us?" Roman asked.

"Dean in particular, but I'm sure you guys will be interested in hearing it, too."

Roman pursed his lips. Hmm. Interesting, important news involving Dean. His curiosity was peaked.

"Before we go, I wanna get Seth to the medical team before they leave. Get his arm checked out."

"Oh, yeah. I saw that fall you took, Rollins. Nasty." Dolph winced. "Well, you guys can catch up whenever. We'll be at The Irish Snug, just down the street. Not too far."

As quickly as he'd appeared, Dolph vanished among the dawdling multitude of wrestlers.

The medical staff was nearly packed up when Roman knocked on the open door to their makeshift "office" near the back of the arena. "Hey, could you guys take a quick look at my buddy's arm? He hurt it pretty bad during that last match."

Two of the standby paramedics escorted Seth into the room. Seth looked back at his brothers and said, "You know what, you guys go onto the pub. I think I'm actually gonna head back to the hotel."

"What?" Dean asked. "Why?"

"Pub's not really my scene." Seth shrugged a shoulder, the one not currently under examination.

Roman got it. It was apparent Seth didn't feel any sense of belonging among the faces. Every one of them had wanted to kill him at some point in the last year. As popular as Shield 2.0 had swelled over the past few months, Seth had yet to maintain any real relationships with any of the faces outside Roman and Dean.

He would. Roman knew it. It would just take some time, like most things.

But he couldn't do it without giving himself a little push. Or someone pushing for him.

"Come on," Dean said. "It would mean a lot to me."

"It would?"

"Sure, it would. The three of us getting trashed, maybe doing some karaoke. Hell, maybe a fight will break out."

"Hope not," Seth laughed.

"Same," Roman said. No more combat. Not tonight.

"Will you please come though?" Dean entreated. "Don't make me beg, Rollins."

Seth gave into a grin. Roman understood the lacking resistant against Dean's beautiful eyes. "Fine. Maybe for a little while."

"Great, we'll wait for you out here, then. Come on, Ro."

Dean took Roman's hand. They strolled together leisurely around a corner, towards a long row of black chairs. Backstage was much emptier now. Roman sat in one of the chairs, pulling Dean down into his lap. With his hands locked around Dean's wrists, he drew Ambrose into him, into a tender kiss. The peck started soft, slow, then caught fire as their seconds together passed into a minute. Roman growled softly as he took Dean's bottom lip in a nip. A soft moan of pleasure escaped Dean's lungs. Stolen and surreptitious kisses were the best part of Roman's day, just about every day. They had to be careful around the others, of course, to sidestep tittle-tattle. But day by day Roman cared far less about what others thought of him, of them. He only cared, took the time to concern himself, with things that did matter. Dean was one of them. Dean was almost all of it by himself.

Dean was the first to recess this time. He was smiling like an idiot when Roman opened his eyes. Dean shook his head.

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?" Roman questioned.

" _That_. Get to me like that, so easily."

"What can I say? I'm a god or something."

"Which god? Aphrodite?" Dean derided. He sniggered and Roman lifted to his feet, raising Dean with him.

They weren't alone. Down the hall, Sheamus leaned against the wall, gazing down towards the two, as if patiently awaiting them to finish whatever they were up to before getting what he wanted. Dean grinned, but his face flushed. Were they busted?

Sheamus meandered down the way towards Roman. He stayed in place, feet cemented to the floor, arms at his side. Sheamus was smiling. Not a good sign. Somehow he looked even paler under these lights. "You two doing alright?"

"Don't know what you're talking about."

Sheamus rolled his eyes with a simper. "My God, Roman, you don't think I know? You don't think everyone around here already knows?"

Roman felt his heart pick up its pace. "Knows what?"

Sheamus closed his eyes. "Jesus Christ, you really think I'm stupid, don't you?"

"What's the matter, Sheamus? Jealous?" Dean taunted. "I know green's your color and all, but it doesn't look too hot on you. Just because you don't have any friends around here doesn't mean you should take it out on someone who does."

"Oh, I have plenty of friends," Sheamus said. "Friends in high places, actually. As for the two of you, I wouldn't put _that_ label on whatever it is you've got going on. So what is it, then? Boyfriends? Husbands? Did I miss the wedding? Or is Dean here simply someone you throw it into from time to time?"

Roman seized Sheamus by the shoulders and threw him against the wall. He snarled breathily in Sheamus's pale face, pinning him to the wall with an arm to his neck. But Sheamus just chuckled.

"I see I've hit a nerve. You know what they say about the lady who protests too much."

"Stay out of our business," Roman commanded, voice low, dark.

"So there _is_ an 'our'! You're not just a 'you', you're a ' _we_.' Reigns and Ambrose. Someone should come up with a cute nickname for the two of you."

"Shut your mouth before I shut it for you."

"Temper, temper," Sheamus jeered. "I'd watch it if I were you, Reigns. We wouldn't want anyone here to pay for your mistakes." Roman traced Sheamus's gaze to Dean, standing behind him.

"The hell are you talking about?" Roman demanded. Was he threatening Dean?

"I'm talking about the _rumors_ , Roman."

Roman's head cocked. "Rumors? What rumors?"

Sheamus coughed against the force on his neck. "Oh, for fuck's sake. You're behind around here, aren't ya? Well, you'll find out on Monday for yourself, in that case. I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise, miss that look on your face when you hear it straight from the horse's mouth. But in the meantime, I'd look out for yourself, and look after Dean here. You'll come through for him, one way or another. You always do."

Roman took hold of Sheamus again and launched him into the row of chairs. His body flipped in the air as he struck the seats head-on. With a groan, he rolled onto the floor, hands to his head.

"Let's go, Dean," Roman barked.

"Later, Sheamus!" Dean called back, following Roman back down the corridor. "Probably should have warned you not to provoke Roman like that. You just might get your ass beat." Dean laughed heartily as he skipped after Roman.

* * *

 **Oh snap, what have we got going on here? ;) Things are about to pick up a bit! Dolph Ziggler is going to have a big role in this story too, because I like him a lot. As always, ratings and reviews are very much appreciated. Catch y'all in the next chapter! (It should be a lot better than the party scene from the last story. Don't you worry.) :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's chapter 3, my lovelies. :) Oh, and has anyone noticed the not-so-subtle message hidden within the title of the story? Winner gets a shoutout. ;D Enjoy!**

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The pub was crammed with visitors, some drunk and others on their way. The air was smoky, stung Dean's eyes. The atmosphere was lively and loud. Irish tavern music pulsed from hidden speakers. Dean inspected the grounds on a search for Dolph. He spotted him up at the bar, paying for a shot which Lana immediately threw back. Husky guys around her cheered, and she beamed triumphantly, slammed her glass against the bar, took Dolph in a kiss.

"That's quite the woman you have, bro," someone praised.

"Thanks. Don't I know it." Dolph kissed Lana again. Then he saw Dean approaching with Roman and Seth. "Ah, the Shield _two-point-oh_! Guests of honor in this pub tonight, ladies and gentleman." The slight swung in his posture and glazed eyes indicated he'd already had quite a lot to drink. "Come, sit down. I've got something fun to tell you."

Dean took the barstool right next to Dolph. Roman occupied the seat next to him, trapping Seth at the end of the line. Dean hoped Seth didn't feel too left out. Seth's arm was in a sling. The medics had guessed he had a bruised bone, but no worse injury than that. Instead of getting an expensive, time-consuming MRI scheduled, Seth requested the sling and promised he'd ice the injury as often as recommended from a medical view.

Dolph raised his hand to the bartender, ordered his "guests" some drinks before starting. "Okay, here's the deal." He rubbed his nose, leaned in close so Dean could hear him talking over the blaring pub attendees. "Nothing's been made official yet, but there's rumors that there's gonna be a Fatal 4-Way at WrestleMania for the Intercontinental Championship. And you're in it."

"Really? Me?" Dean asked. He was charged by just the _idea_ of it. Were these the rumors Sheamus had mentioned?

"You bet, buddy. Steph's pro'lly gonna announce it at Raw on Monday. But there's been a lot of talk. I'm thinking it might be true."

"Do you know who else is _rumored_ to be involved?"

The bartender set a cocktail in front of Dolph. "Well, King Barrett, obviously, since he currently holds the title. Then, as the gossip goes, you, Sheamus, and yours truly."

Dean was surprised—and excited. Fatal 4-Ways were thrilling. And now he knew that _had_ been what Sheamus meant by "rumors" earlier, unless he was speaking of completely different hearsay. But a look at Roman and Dean knew they were thinking the same thing. Dean clicked his tongue. Too bad. He'd hoped Sheamus's news was a bit more riveting and unexpected than something that was going to be announced anyway in just a couple of days.

"Ah, so at the moment, I'm looking in the face of my enemy," Dean said, giggling.

"Nah, brother, not with me. At WrestleMania it's going down, but you're not too shabby, kid."

"Thanks."

The bartender returned again, lifted three drinks similar to Dolph's, set them in front of the Shield members. "My personal favorite," he said.

"Thanks, mate. Appreciate it. Try it," Dolph encouraged.

Dean wrapped his fingers around the small glass. He wasn't a big drinker. Alcohol had to have the right amount of sweetness to it, otherwise he was turned off by the bitter bite. But he took a swig of the red liquid. It was tangy and sharp, and triggered a cough from Dean's lungs.

"'Atta boy," Dolph said, patting Dean on the back.

"Got quite the kick, don't it?" Dean asked. "Come on, Roman, give it a try."

Roman stared doubtfully at the glass. Dean decided to give him a hand. He put his hands on Roman's and lifted the glass to his lips. With a smirk, Roman gulped the drink down. He winced at the sharpness, but took it like a champ.

"That's my Ro," Dean said, grinning. He almost looked back at Dolph, then realized he didn't care who saw what he planned to do. He pressed his hands against Roman's cheeks and pulled himself into his love's lips. The taste of alcohol was acrid compared to Roman's natural taste, so Dean licked it away. Roman kissed back, hard.

"Aww, you guys!" Dolph spoke.

Dean broke the kiss. He couldn't stop smiling and his cheeks ached as a result. It was the only way Roman could ever hurt him.

Dolph raised his glass. "Cheers to you two. 'Bout time you made it public."

Roman laughed. "Not quite there yet, but we're making our way."

"Seth, try your drink," Dean coaxed.

"Do I get a kiss at the end of mine, too?" Seth asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dean laughed, but his face burned bright in the darkness of the pub. A lump inflated in his throat, and his insides went rigid. Was he serious?

"Hey, I'm kidding!" Seth cried with an uncertain laugh. "Come on, guys, I'm just messing around. Here." He raised the glass and guzzled down nearly half his drink, clearly fighting the pungent kick. With a crinkled face, he set the glass down again. "That's pretty good, man."

Dolph broke the tension still hanging over them like a cloud. "Here's to us, gentlemen. Roman will become the United States Champion, Seth'll knock Randy Orton off his high horse and retain his title, and either Dean—or myself!—will take home the Intercontinental Championship. And, of course…" He leaned back and swung an arm over Lana's shoulder, who snuggled into his form. "To my beautiful queen Lana, who'll be there to support me in all my endeavors."

The wrestlers clinked their glasses together, and each took another drink. Seth finished his off completely and wiped his lips with a quick swipe of the hand.

"You alright?" Dean asked.

"Fine. Can I get another one of those? It was amazing."

"Sure thing, kid," the older bartender answered. He set to work on Seth's order.

"Take it easy on those, Seth," Roman warned.

"Hey, what's the point of coming here tonight if I can't have a little fun?" Seth mused.

Dean was about to reinforce Roman's warning when two things happened.

Two phrases.

One from Dolph. "Oh, hell. Who invited him?"

And the exhilarated cry of a woman. "Oh my _God_ , it's _Randy Orton_!"

Dean whirled around in time to catch Randy Orton cruising through the pub. It was too big of a coincidence that he'd be here now, with Dean and Seth and Roman here as well…had he followed them here?

The surprised look on his face did look a bit forced as he called out, "Well, well. Hey, guys. Long time, no see."

Roman shot from his chair. "What are you doing here, Orton?"

The pub silenced. Even the music, incessant chatter and all.

"Whoa, whoa, easy, Reigns. What's with the hostility?" He raised his hands warily. "My business isn't with you, or you," he said, eyes on Dean. They shifted to Seth and locked on target. "It's with you."

"Fuck off, Orton," Seth said. "I'm not dealing with you right now."

"Well, you'll have to deal with it at some point, right? Why not now?" Randy tapped Seth's shoulder. "Huh? You gonna run again? Sit back and let your boys handle all your dirty work for you? Huh?" He tapped Seth again with more aggression this time.

Dean put both hands on Randy, thrusting him back. "Back off, man."

It all happened so fast. Randy stepped forward. Grabbed Dean's hair. Held his head in place and fired a punch into his jaw. Dean jerked backwards, spinning, clenching the injured area. Randy kicked him mightily in the chest. Dean's back rattled against the bar.

Seth snapped and Roman broke.

Rollins got to Orton first. He grabbed Randy's shirt and rushed him into a table. Randy's hip struck the corner of the wood surface, and his torso bent over the table, knocking several glasses over. Seth struck him again and again in the face. Randy brought his knee up, hitting Seth in the gut. Seth keeled over. Randy seized his throat and, in Kane fashion, Choke Slammed him to the ground. Randy kicked Seth's arm in the sling, and Seth cried out.

Roman charged over. He didn't throw fists. Not yet. "HEY!" he barked. He stood defensively in front of Seth and Dean, looking back at them. Dolph, closer to Dean than Seth, helped the guy to his feet. Roman punctured Randy with a dark look. His hands were balled into shaking fists. He would attack Randy if he made another move.

One could hear a pin drop in that pub. Roman was certain someone had called the police by now.

But Randy scoffed. "Man, to hell with this. To hell with all three of you. I don't need this. I'll get my kicks at WrestleMania. Maybe even before, if your boy crosses my path." He jabbed an accusing pointer finger at Seth.

Crossed _his_ path? Randy was the one barging into this pleasant evening looking for a fight! He was only irritated because the Shield, once more, had stepped up to protect one another. Roman upheld his grim, blazed look until Randy finally backed far away and out of the pub.

"I recorded _all_ that shit, man!" a younger guy in the back cried. Roman would have scolded him, told him to delete all evidence of the occurrence, but he was certain the gentleman wasn't the only one who'd captured the incident on a camera.

He knelt beside Seth. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Seth muttered. Roman helped him up.

"So much for no fights tonight," he sighed.

Dean put a wobbly step in front of the other towards Roman. "You're okay," Roman said, taking Dean into a protective hold. "You're fine."

"Asshole with his cheap shots," Dean said weakly. "I hope he comes back."

The bartender's face had gone ghostly pale.

"Don't worry, we're leaving," Roman said. "Catch you later, Ziggler."

Dolph could only let out a drunken giggle. "I love my fuckin' job, man."


	4. Chapter 4

**Greetings, readers! Here I am with another chapter. But before I get into that, props to Dana1 for figuring out the not-so-subtle message within the title of the story. An acronym for Shield. Took me a while to come up with one that fit, and made sense! I liked the other guesses, though. ;) Here's chapter four! A quick blurb for what's to come: Seth Rollins still battles his feelings as the boys land in Oklahoma City for the next episode of Raw. When he receives a mysterious message on his phone, he's led onto a path of further temptation...and potential destruction.**

 **Enjoy. Reviews rock my world. ^-^**

* * *

 **Days Until WrestleMania: 23**

Airports were a bitch.

At least they were boarding on time. Seth blinked away sleep as he moved into his window seat. Past the giant wing of the plane, he had a view of the entire eastern side. The sky, now indigo, was flecked with faint traces of light. The sun, looking like a melting lemon, bobbed on the horizon. Stars that once burned bright faded out weakly one by one. Darkness shriveled, shrinking back into the corners of the earth for another day.

His arm ached. The sling held it tight, snug, but beneath his taut skin, the bone cried. So far it wasn't feeling like a good day, but there was still time.

Dean, sitting between him and Roman, let out a yawn. "How long's this flight gonna be?" he groaned.

"Little over an hour," Roman said, shifting his seat back to make room for his freakishly long legs.

"Mm. Wish it was longer." Dean nuzzled his head on Roman's shoulder.

"You want a pillow?" Roman asked.

"Mm, no…good…thanks." His face stretched with another yawn. Roman just smiled and kissed Dean's hair.

Seth turned his burning gaze to the window again, watching the sun rise. _Wish it was shorter_ , he thought.

The flight took off on time. The plane wasn't crowded. Seth was clinging to all the good signs he could find. Jealousy waged war on his positivity. He propped his elbow against the window and rested his chin on his knuckles, watching wispy clouds take over what had been a view of the runaway and distant airport.

When his neck started to hurt in this position, he faced forward. Several people were sleeping. Others were watching the newest Marvel flick on the inflight movie screens. Dean was just napping away, snug as a bug, on Roman's shoulder. Seth, naturally inclined to torture himself, looked at the two of them. _Get used to it already_ , he told himself. _Look. This is it. This is what's going to be. You're going to have to accept it. Or make a change._

 _Make a change_ …

Roman's eyes opened, catching Seth staring. "You okay?" he asked, voice hushed so not to disturb Dean.

"Just wondering about the future, is all," Seth answered. Not exactly the truth. Not exactly a lie.

"What, about Orton?"

"Yeah," Seth said in a tone he didn't even believe.

"Hey, don't worry about him, alright?" Roman slowly stretched an arm over Dean to pat Seth on the knee. "You're not going to lose your championship."

"Yeah, I hope not." Seth stared out the window. The purple sky had illuminated to a terrific blue. Another day.

"That's not what's bothering you, is it?"

Seth chewed on his lip.

"Then what is it?" Roman pressed on.

"Just some personal stuff, Ro. That's on." Shit. He'd used Dean's cute little nickname for Roman. Perhaps that alone said too much. Seth pressed his forehead to the window, wanting the interrogation to be over.

"Nothing you can't tell me—?"

"Look, don't worry about it, okay?" Seth snapped. He regretted his incisive response at once. Roman was only trying to help. He strengthened his teeth's jab into his lip.

"Okay," Roman said, conceding. "But you need to know something, Seth. Being brothers means a lot more than fighting together, physically, on the outside. Being brothers means fighting together mentally, emotionally. It means never giving up on each other in hard times. No matter what, we're together again and nothing's going to change that."

"Geez, look at _One Tree Hill_ over here." Seth looked back to Roman and smiled, a sign he was only teasing. "Thanks, Ro _man_. I'll be fine. Just under a lot of stress right now."

"We all are."

Dean shifted. Roman inclined into him, giving Dean more of his shoulder to lean on. Roman was smiling, as was Seth on the inside. Dean was so adorable, the way his locks fell over his sleeping eyes, the way his chest rose steadily with every breath. Dean's breathing was a gift. There were too many times it was nearly taken from him forever.

Roman gently kissed Dean's hair.

"You look high as hell," Seth said. _Ha ha, airplane pun. God, I hate myself_.

"Just didn't think I'd ever feel this way about anyone," Roman sighed.

"Damn, I gotta get me some love. Think Ziggler will take my number?"

Roman held in his laughter. "Maybe. Knowing his history with so many of the divas, maybe he's open to something like that for a change."

Seth bounced his head. "I could dig it."

The flight landed on time.

Dean slowly lifted himself as the flight attendant announced the time and temperature outside. His mouth stretched into a yawn.

"We didn't crash?" he asked.

"No," Roman said, chuckling. "Why would you think that?"

"It'd just be our luck."

After a painfully tedious procedure of getting off the plane and gathering their luggage from baggage claim—then posing with some very excited fans in some unflattering pictures, messy hair, wrinkled clothes and all—Roman rented a car, and Seth guided him to a hotel further away from the Chesapeake Energy Arena. The longer they could avoid contact with other wrestlers, the better—not just other wrestlers in general, but a few very specific men they wanted to avoid at all costs.

The day was eventful for a normal human; undemanding and leisurely for a wrestler. Lunch at The Wedge Pizzeria on 1st Street, working out at the hotel's fitness facility, a hike expanding a little under eight miles along the Katy Trail, with a "rest" at Creston Hills Park, where Seth worked his arm into normal functionality with some practice moves on Roman and Dean. Deep down he felt a warmth inside whenever Dean playfully pinned him. Deeper down he rebuked that warmth and even denied its existence.

On his deepest level he knew his denial was just a hoax.

Things rolled to a rest back at the hotel. Roman was taking a nap while Dean took a shower. Seth was on the bed watching Sports Center, legs stretched out, arm out of that constricting sling. Screw the doctor's orders—he had to wrestle in three nights and he didn't want anything stopping him.

His phone buzzed next to him. He snatched it up and read a message from an unknown number.

Are you in the state yet?

While trying to recognize the number—he couldn't even identify the area code—the phone buzzed again. Same number, different message.

Meet me in the parking lot of Happy Garden tonight at 7. Need to talk to you. -S

"S"? A clue to this stranger's identity. But what was their full name, and why did they want to meet up with Seth? Was this some sort of trap? Was he in danger?

A third message. It was the last of them.

Come alone. Don't panic. Just a talk. -S

Seth almost rebelled against "S"'s orders, wanting to tell Roman and Dean, but something stopped him. If this was a trap—if he was in danger and this "S" individual was lying—he didn't want to put his boys in harm's way. He'd be better off if they were there with him, but who knew what would happen at this meeting? If he disobeyed the message, it could have been bad news for his two favorite people in the world. The people he loved more than anyone. All he really had left. He couldn't risk losing them, letting anything happen to them.

If he obeyed, maybe things would work out in the best way possible.

Seven o'clock. It would be dark by then. Ominous.

Happy Garden sounded like some sort of restaurant. That would be his excuse for leaving. He wondered how long it would take.

A little later when Dean and Roman broached ideas for dinner, Seth recommended Happy Garden. "I hear it's really good," Seth said, going off only what he read from reviews on his phone. "Cozy little Chinese place."

"That does sound good," Dean said. "Where's it at?"

"Over on Hudson. But I can handle the trip by myself."

"You sure?" Dean asked.

Seth licked his lips, hating what he could say to convince the boys to let him go alone. "Sure, I'm sure. It'll give you guys some time alone."

Seth recognized the little smiles Roman and Dean exchanged. _You've no idea what sacrifices I make for the two of you._

"Okay," Roman agreed. "Pull up a menu, and we'll write down our order. Since you're picking it up, I'll pay."

"Works for me."

Seth used the rental car to drive to the Chinese restaurant. He folded up the order Roman had scribbled down and crammed it into his pocket. With absolute attentiveness, he slammed the car door shut and hurried up to the door. Nobody was in the parking lot. He didn't recognize any cars.

He pushed the glass doors open. A tiny golden bell tinkled, welcoming him into the near-empty establishment.

It didn't take him long to realize who "S" was.

Stephanie McMahon sat at a booth table towards the back of the joint. She was alone. It was weird to see her in a setting without Triple H or even J&J Security beside her. She raised her head and nodded to Seth, confirming she was the one who'd sent him the message. Seth's eyes swept over the interior of the little restaurant, just to make sure they weren't looming around a corner somewhere.

"Hello, Seth," she said. "Have a seat?"

Seth dropped onto the bench across from her. He stared her down, wondering what the hell she wanted. She upheld her composure, not smiling but not frowning either.

"Where's your clique?" Seth asked.

"Hunter doesn't know I'm here. Did you come alone?" she asked.

"Yeah."

Her eyes regarded Seth curiously. "You look surprised to see me."

"I didn't know what I was walking into. Or who with," Seth admitted.

"You deleted my number? I'm offended."

"I don't give a damn."

Steph's lips uplifted. "Not quite the playful little scamp you were back in the day, huh, Rollins?"

"Cut the shit, Steph. I came here alone like you wanted. Now what _do_ you want?"

A server came up, interrupting. Stephanie fired off a couple of drink orders and an appetizer sample platter of egg rolls, barbecued ribs, foil wrapped chicken, fried shrimp, candied walnuts, and beef skewers. Seth's stomach growled in delight. He pressed his arm over it in an attempt to silence it.

"Not hungry," he said.

"Are you not?" Steph mused.

"I'm bringing back dinner for the boys. So make this quick, okay?"

"Sure. Wouldn't want to waste your time." She folded her hands in front of her face, the way she normally did before she offered some kind of business proposal. "You've been on quite the journey over the years, haven't you, Seth? You've been riding waves back and forth, back and forth. Riding solo, part of a team, riding solo, part of a team. You're very fickle. But one thing hasn't changed about you. You're powerful."

"Thanks." Seth wasn't flattered.

"I'm serious, Rollins. You've never really _needed_ anyone. There's so much you've accomplished on your own. Even when you are part of a team, there's things you're capable of that nobody can compete with. Not even your allies. You're fine on your own. Never tell yourself you _need_ anyone to be successful."

"You think I don't know that, Steph?" Seth was surprised at the sudden vexation in his voice. He worked to calm himself. Don't give her a foothold. She'd climb and climb until she reached the very top. "I know what I'm capable of. Nobody knows me like I do. But I'm not part of Shield 2.0 because I'm incapable on my own. I'm part of Shield 2.0 because we're family. We have each other's backs. And we've done a _lot_ together, if you recall."

Stephanie's face didn't change. Not a lift nor a slope in her lips. "I know. I just hope you're alright with sacrificing so much for the sake of _family_."

"I haven't sacrificed anything." He'd gained a lot in this, gained everything, but Steph wasn't a sucker for sentiment.

"Think of it this way. It's like…working on a group project at school. No matter how many of your group members slack off, no matter how many bust their butts striving for an A+, the entire group receives one grade. More often than not, the ones who worked the hardest get ripped off because the slackers get the same grade for _their_ hard work as they did. You're the architect. That's something else that's never changed about you. You're a planner, a designer, an organizer. But what happens when Reigns and Ambrose take your ideas and execute them as they're known to do, and _they're_ the ones who get the praise and acclamation? Suddenly they're the top dogs, and you're still at the bottom."

"Do you really think I care about popularity?"

"Of course you do. You always have. It's your drive. You care so much about your own fame. And there's nothing wrong with that. It's why you're in the business, right? If you don't care about winning, about getting everything you've ever wanted, why are you even here?"

Seth bit the inside of his cheek. Maybe she was right in a small degree.

"Reigns, Ambrose, they're adorable little faces. Hunks. People admire them. You? You've still got a lot to make up for after playing heel last year. You're over here trying to get praise back—praise that you deserve—but you're continuously overshadows by your ' _brothers_.'" The word trickled from her tongue like it tasted nasty in her mouth. "If you want to keep growing in this industry, Seth, you need to stop digging yourself into this hole. Or, take the shovels away from Ambrose and Reigns. You deserve more than they're getting for your work."

"Are you even listening to me, Steph!?" Seth seethed. "I told you, it's not about the fame, the fortune, the popularity for me! I joined back up with _Roman_ and _Dean_ "—Stephanie seemed to use their last names as insults, like they weren't even humans to her, only figures in her business—"because they were there for me when I needed them, when I didn't expect them. I'm not the same guy I used to be. You're right, and you're wrong. Some things may never change, but I do. I'm better off with Dean and Roman than I ever was with you or those vipers known as the Authority. And there's nothing you can say to me, nothing you can do, to get me to come back to you guys."

"I'm not saying come back to the Authority, Seth. I doubt Hunter would let you, and Kane sure as hell doesn't _want_ you to. I'm saying, become independent. Do your own thing. Make a name for yourself that isn't tacked onto two other names."

Seth wanted to reach across the table and slap her.

The food was delivered. Stephanie immediately picked up a beef skewer, twirling it like it was a magic wand. "It has never been just you, Seth. You've always been apart of something. The Shield, the Authority. Why do you think you _have_ to be apart of _anything_? Why can't you just be _Seth Rollins_ , WWE Superstar?"

Seth opened his mouth to speak, but Steph hushed him with her own voice prattling on.

"The point is, you will never retain that championship with those two holding you back. I know you care about your career. That title means more to you than anything in the world. Don't give it up for anything, or anyone."

Seth leered at her. "I can't wait till WrestleMania. You know what, I just want to say, _thank you_. Thank you, Steph, for pinning me against Randy Orton. Give Kane and Hunter and Jamie and Joey my thanks, too. Because I'm _going_ to beat him that night. And I'm _going_ to retain my title. And when I'm standing over his fallen, broken, sweating, bleeding body, upholding my belt as high as I can…when the ref grabs my arm and throws it up, and my name's called out by Lillian as the champ…I'm going to thank two different sets of people for getting me that far. You, and Roman and Dean. My _brothers_."

Seth pushed up from the table and shuffled towards the table to place his order.

"You're so sure about this?" Steph asked.

"Sure, I'm sure. And thanks for the dinner offer, but I've got a family to feed. But maybe you can save all that crap for Hunter when you go back to him tonight to report everything I've said to you. Tell him I said hi. And don't forget to thank him."

Seth grabbed his food to go. Steph didn't say another word to him. Just watched him leave.

Back at the hotel, Dean immediately jumped on Seth for being gone for so long.

"We were about to send the calvary after you, man," he said, laughing. "Where've you been?"

Seth set the bags of food on the table, slowly walked towards Dean, then enveloped him in a strong, safe hug. Dean wouldn't understand. He'd never get how much he and Roman meant to him.

Dean didn't question it. Just hugged him back.

* * *

 **Well, what do you think? :) Yes, I did take a fragment of the previous story (the one I deleted) to use in this one. I just love how the conversation rattles Seth's bones even when he doesn't think it really does. What happens next? Stay tuned! :D**


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm back with another chapter! Things are starting to twist and turn as enemies become allies and plot the destruction of the WWE's greatest heroes. What's the full extent of their plan? Will the Shield survive these attacks if they keep happening? Let's find out...**

* * *

 **Days Until WrestleMania: 20**

Dean was fired up.

For the first time in a few weeks, the Shield 2.0 has a tag team match against Stardust, Bo Dallas and Adam Rose on Monday Night Raw. Dean nearly gave into childish laughter when the announcement was made. Could his team have _worse_ opponents? Perhaps New Day, if Dean hadn't already cast them aside as completely irrelevant. But he treated all matches equal. He wasn't going to let his guard down just because he, Roman and Seth were facing off against who he believed were the worst wrestlers in the league.

Dean performed a series of pushups and sit-ups near the water table backstage, then poured himself a tall glass and chugged it down. It was warm here, humid. He'd been in worse conditions, and better ones in his day. He preferred a climate cool and dry. Texas was probably going to be hell, come WrestleMania.

He felt someone standing behind him.

Expecting it to be Roman or Seth, Dean turned on his heel and found himself staring into Sheamus's deviant face.

Sheamus threw Dean against the wall, bashing him again and again with an unyielding fist. He drove Dean to his knees, then knocked him sideways with a blow to the cheek. Dean hit the floor, groaning, holding his stomach. But Sheamus's assault wasn't over quite yet. Dean tried kicking up to defend himself, but Sheamus grabbed him by the hair, raised him into an indomitable hold, and hurled him into the water table. Dean's ankle smacked against the table's edge as the rest of his body landed on the wood. His form with the force hadn't broken the table. Dean struggled to roll off the table, but Sheamus moved over swiftly and kicked out the legs of the table, sending Dean crashing down with water cups spilling atop him. He kicked Dean once more in the face, once in the ribs, and twice more in the ankle that had battered the collapsed table's edge.

Sheamus chuckled and knelt beside Dean's withering body. He shoved some hair from the boy's face, then looked up at a guest Dean hadn't even registered as there.

"Get me a camera," Sheamus instructed. "I have a message to deliver."

x

"Where the hell is Dean?" Roman asked. Two-thirds of the Shield 2.0 were backstage, awaiting cue music, and Dean was nowhere to be found.

"Warming up? Bathroom trip? Not sure," Seth said.

"Dammit," Roman said, flustered. When the team's music blared over the speakers and the audience bellowed for their ingress, he spun his neck like an owl, eyes inspecting both corners down the hall. No sign of Dean.

"He'll be out there," Seth assured. "If not now, then eventually. Let's go." Seth nudged Roman's arm. Roman let a breath out through his teeth. Maybe Seth was right. Dean was quite the trickster. Maybe he had something special planned.

Roman made his arrival on the walkway with Seth as Lillian Garcia welcomed them by name. Their opponents were already in the ring, having taken a less anticipated, dramatic appearance than the Shield. The crowd and the announcers were quick to perceive Dean's absence. Roman's eyes were everywhere on a hunt for Dean. So far he was letting himself down.

He hopped onto the ring and pulled himself through the ropes. Seth stood by his side, also gazing about the stadium for their missing teammate.

"Where's the third stooge at?" Bo Dallas snickered.

"Speak with your muscles, not your mouth," Seth growled.

"Is Ambrose in?" the official asked.

"Yes, he's in," Roman barked. "Just running a little late."

The ref rolled his eyes, impatient for whatever reason. "I'll give him two more minutes, but if he's a no-show, it'll turn into a 3-on-2, and he won't be allowed to interfere." He relayed this information to the announcers, who agreed and started a countdown.

Roman felt confident he and Seth could handle these clowns, no problem. That wasn't what was stressing him out. Dean had wandered off for some alone time, to gear himself up, to prep for the match. What was taking him so long? Was this still part of the little trick Roman hoped he was playing on everyone? He could imagine Dean popping up, theme blasting behind his run, just as his two minutes drew to an end. " _You think I'd miss out on this_?" he'd ask, tongue gliding over his soft lips.

With less than a minute to go, Roman was ready for the trick to be over, no matter who was responsible for it.

The lights went out.

The audience fell hushed. Roman stayed absolutely still. _This supposed to happen_? he wondered. He stood sturdy in place, preparing for any sort of unexpected tackle from all sides. But he heard Seth groaning and gasping, clearly as baffled as he was.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we do apologize," came Michael Cole's voice over the microphone. The mic still worked? So it wasn't a power outage. "We're working now to find out what's going on. Please remain seated and stay calm."

Roman scoffed. Calm? This was such an inconvenience. No doubt the Authority was behind this.

Seth rubbed the back of his head and sighed, frustrated. This was part of something to stir excitement, agitation. All he was feeling was annoyed.

"What's going on?" Roman asked.

"No freakin' clue," Seth answered.

The Titantron was suddenly active, lighting to life. Sheamus's face took up the screen in shaky footage.

"I'm back, Roman," he spat. "You didn't think I'd stay down forever after that little besiege, did you?"

Roman cocked his head. What the hell was going on?

"Ladies and gentleman, I apologize for the delay, but I've just met with some terrible news. Dean Ambrose will not be taking part in his match tonight with Roman and Seth. There's been an accident."

Roman's throat closed. _What_?

The camera shifted downwards. Dean's aching, limp body was sprawled before Sheamus's feet. His hair was messy and his face was bruised, as though he'd been beaten just before this broadcast. Staring long enough revealed he was still breathing, but slowly in and out through his gritted teeth.

Roman's heart caught fire. _He did this…_

"Hey, buddy," Sheamus's voice came over the startling image of Dean. "Are you alright? What happened to you? Did you get hurt?"

Panic consumed Roman. Rage churned in his blood.

Sheamus ran his fingers through Dean's slovenly hair like Dean was a sleeping baby. He clicked his tongue. "Dear me. Poor dote. Tell me who did this to you! I'll be sure to extract some…" The camera suddenly hauled up to show his full face again. " _Revenge_." He bared his teeth in a hellish grin. Each bead of sweat, each stain on his teeth, was detailed and unhindered in the closeup. He laughed darkly.

When the shock wore off, nothing was left but ire. Roman could think for himself again. He had to get back there, get to Dean, and beat the shit out of Sheamus.

Roman bound over the ropes, hitting the ground beneath the ring.

"Roman!" Seth called after him. This was a trap. Surely it was a trap. Sheamus was waiting for Roman to take the bait and walk into his own ambush. But Roman wasn't stopping for anything or anybody. He dashed down the walkway. And Seth couldn't let him face the anticipated snare.

Paying no mind to his competitors in the ring, Seth slipped between the ropes and hit the floor running to catch up to Roman. Roman had rounded the corner, and Seth was still trailing behind by a good distance.

The lights came on again.

Someone else had emerged where Roman had just disappeared into.

Randy Orton.

Seth ground his run to a halt, but it was too late. Nothing stood between Orton and his prey.

"Nobody to protect you now," he voiced.

Seth tried to dart away, but Randy was quicker. He seized Seth by the throat and tossed him into a half-wall, repressing hundreds of screaming onlookers. Seth took the wall on head-first. His arms flew to his skull, as though compressing it in this way would curtail the pain. Randy bent over and heaved Seth over his shoulders, carrying him down towards the ring. Seth tried to wriggle out of this grip, but he had no power of his own under Randy's hold. Randy launched him into the center of the ring. The mat had been cleared of the ref and Seth's challengers. Seth staggered to his feet.

Even before Randy hopped into the ring himself, the audience had one demand and made it very clear: "RKO! RKO! RKO!"

 _Thanks, assholes_ , Seth thought, pained.

He had to make a move before Randy took advantage of him. He threw two punches, one behind the other, aiming for Randy's face. But Randy dodged the first blow and caught the second in its path. He twisted Seth's arm behind his back and wrapped his other thick hand tight around Seth's throat from behind. The agony goaded Seth to the mat on his knees.

"You think I was gonna let you get away with what you did?" Randy hissed in Seth's ears, unheard by anyone. He held Seth in the torturous position for several seconds, then lifted him by the neck with two hands and heaved him over the ropes. Seth collapsed on the hard floor. Randy grabbed the top rope and vaulted over it, stalking his victim.

Seth tried to scamper away, but his off-balance forced him tumbling into the metal stairs. His knee struck the corner of the top step, and he rolled onto his back, holding his leg with a twisted face. Still he tried to scurry. Randy caught up to him effortlessly and lifted him by the arms, casting him into the stairs. Seth's body flopped in torment upon impact. Randy kicked his head again, forcing it entirely against the step beneath his body. Randy hoisted a weakened Seth and delivered his body to the ring once more, to finish him off.

"Let's give the people what they want," Randy said, grinning. He leaped up, roped his arm around Seth's neck, and brought him down with an RKO. The spectators shook the stadium's walls with approval and appreciation.

"You hear that?" Randy asked, bending down to yell into Seth's ear. "They love me. They can't _stand_ you. You are _not_ their champion. And come WrestleMania, you never will be. Again."

Randy posed for the wailing crowd, then made his way off with "Voices" pumping behind him. Seth was left to fight back tears alone in the center of the ring, in front of millions.


	6. Chapter 6

**I had so much fun writing this chapter... It's got angst and fluff galore! Enjoy! ^-^**

* * *

Roman had an idea about where he was going. He'd recognized the toppled water table behind Dean during Sheamus's broadcast, as well as a couple of posters on the wall behind the Celtic Warrior's pallid figure. It was all the way across the stadium, far from where Seth and Roman had emerged as an incomplete team. And it was here, around a corner and down a corridor, where Roman found Dean, still straggled over the dirty floor.

"Dean," Roman said, rushing to his side and collapsing beside him. He tucked a hand underneath Dean's head and slowly raised it up, grabbing Dean's hand with the other.

"Ro," Dean said, coughing.

"Can you move?" Roman figured it was the next best thing to ask. Inquiring whether or not Dean was hurt seemed inane.

"Workin' on it."

Roman held Dean sit up. With a grunt, Dean rubbed his face, streaking pellets of sweat across his forehead.

"Sheamus?" Roman asked.

"Yeah. Came right the fuck outta nowhere and jumped me. Didn't even say anything till I was down."

"Where the hell is he?"

"Dunno. Took off after making that stupid video."

Roman regarded the entire area, wishing Sheamus would come out to say something. He'd do a lot worse than throw him into a couple of chairs. Nobody messed with his Dean Ambrose.

He draped an arm over Dean's shoulder, gently squeezing the muscle. As long as he held Dean like this, nobody could do anything more to him. "You're alright, babe. You're okay."

"Thanks, Ro. Where's Seth?"

"Back at the ring. I kinda left him behind coming after you." Roman chuckled without smiling. He wondered what had become of the match.

Dean contended to get back on his feet. Roman tried to help pull him up, but Dean insisted on relying on his own strength. He needed to get it back somehow. "Let's go find him. Maybe he whooped Dallas and Rose and Stardust all on his own."

"That's the hope—"

Seth rounded the corner, tromping towards Dean and Roman with a limp. It was obvious he was holding back tears, but his fight not to give into that weakness was spirited and exemplary.

"What the hell happened to you?" Roman asked.

"Fucking Randy Orton came out right after you took off." Seth's voice was unsteady. One tear won a battle on its own, careening down his dirty cheek. "Beat my ass to the ground in front of everyone, man."

"Seth, I'm sorry—"

"Why the hell didn't you have my back, man? I was right behind you."

"I had no idea—I thought you'd stayed behind…"

"You had no idea I'd go after the fucker who ambushed Dean with you? What happened to doing shit as a team?"

Roman was startled by the sudden curt questioning. He tried to blame it on stress, embarrassment, the pain, whatever it was Seth was enduring from the inside out. This wasn't a logical-minded Seth talking. It was someone who was very hurt. It also wasn't outside Seth's typical behavior, heel or not. "I didn't know what was gonna happen, dude. I was trying to get to Dean as fast as I could—"

"I was _with_ you. We could have taken on Orton together, then hunted down Sheamus and kicked his Lucky Charms-looking ass. But he manhandled me in front of the entire goddamn WWE Universe."

He was speaking from his heart, not his head. Roman tried not to get snappy with Seth right back. He had to get Seth to calm down, unbend, and then perhaps he'd see reasoning.

"Guys—" Dean tried.

"Seth, do you _really_ think I would _ever_ leave you behind on purpose?"

"Guys."

"Your heart was in the right place. Saving Dean. Fine. You didn't _abandon_ me. But we still could have gone together. Instead of choosing right then and there to play hero and take off running into what _I_ could only assume was an ambush, one I _didn't_ want you walking into _alone_ , we could have gone in guns drawn together."

Roman sighed, hands rising to his hips, but Seth went on. Dean's head swiveled back and forth between Roman and Seth. "I don't care if you're Batman and I'm stuck playing the role of Robin, I'm here to _help you_ —"

Dean intervened with force. " _Guys_! Stop fighting, please!"

That worked. Both Roman and Seth shut their traps.

Dean huffed, pacified his voice. "Look. What happened tonight happened and it's done. There's no point in arguing about the should have, could have, would have. I got my ass kicked, and Seth, I'm sorry the same happened to you, but it's over now."

"And they just decided to leave Roman alone? Why?" Seth flared.

 _Jesus Christ, Rollins_ , Roman thought. He almost sounded infuriated, jealous that Roman had been spared a beatdown. But Dean had an explanation for that as well, one that struck as uncomfortable truth in Roman and probably wouldn't help Seth feel any better.

"Roman's the strongest one of us all, brother. It's easier to get to him psychologically, mess with his mind a little." Dean looked to Roman. "No offense. But I'm one hell of a weak spot in you."

Roman had to agree.

As if guided by cue cards, Seth saw two pairs of eyes fixed on the trio from down the hall, behind Dean and Roman. Steph's and Triple H's. Of course. It made sense. They'd watched the program all night—hell, they'd _planned_ the program start to finish, perhaps staging that stunt with Sheamus and the surprise attack from Orton—and now from a front-row seat they got to witness the results.

Steph was trying to prove a point. Convince Seth she was right.

If he had the strength, a fully-functioning leg, he'd run over there and kick some serious ass…he didn't care if Steph was a woman, he'd do it.

 _I fucking hate them_ , he thought.

"But this is still a team," Dean said. Seth blinked and his thoughts scattered. Steph and Triple H seemed bored by the lack of aggression in the conversation between the Shield 2.0 members now. They disappeared as ghostly as they'd arrived. "We can't let anyone get to us like this again, break us apart. We're stronger together. Everyone here knows that. They think if they find a way to split us apart, they can take us down separately. If it's us against them, we can't be snapping at each other like this, turning against one another. What if that's what they want?"

"It is," Seth muttered.

Dean looked at Seth. "So no more arguing." Looked to Roman. "No more yelling. What happened happened, and all we can do now is think of a sick way to get Sheamus and Randy back. Might not even have to wait for WrestleMania for it."

"Look at you, the conscience of the band all of a sudden," Seth said, feeling himself smile again.

"We _are_ stronger together." Dean extended his arm, forming a fist, attempting a third of the Shield's symbolic gesture. "Forged of iron. Heroes. They'll remember us forever."

Seth was still upholding his glare towards Roman. Roman was the next to fit his arm into the equation. He should have waited on Seth. Seth shouldn't have had to take on Orton alone, just because Roman thought he was high and mighty enough to rescue Dean all by himself, defeat the dragon Sheamus solo. That's what being part of a team was about, right? Helping each other?

But, resisting the urge to shake his head at himself, Seth stuck his arm with his brothers'. The Shield was still here. Even with some scratches, some chips, perhaps a fragment near the center, the team's plan for the future didn't involve breaking down completely, dismantling for a second time.

Not again.

x

Seth couldn't sleep.

While Dean and Roman seemed so goddamn cozy together in their own bed, he tossed and turned alone in his own. He pulled the blanket over his head and kicked it off again. His body couldn't determine if he was too hot or too cold. He flipped his pillows over again and again, hugging it to his chest, drawing it over his head, pressing his face into it while laying on his stomach. His side. His back. His other side. Nothing worked. His brain was a hard drive dangerously close to overheating and shutting down completely.

Seth got out of bed and pulled on his shoes. Maybe a walk would help. At the very least, he could organize his thoughts into ones worth pondering and others he could tuck away in a mental drawer and deal with another time. Perhaps it would ease the stress. He grabbed one of the key cards off the desk and slipped out of the room quietly so not to rouse Ricky and Lucy over there.

Dean heard the door close and sat up. Seth was gone.

Roman groaned, his arms seeking out his missing lover as Dean creeped out of bed. He walked to Roman's side and kissed his cheek, whispering into his ear, "I'll be back."

Roman grunted sleepily again and turned over.

It was past open hours for the fitness center, but there was no lock on the door, so Seth let himself in. Dressed in a wrinkled t-shirt and boxer shorts, he reached for the pull-up bar and began his standard workout reps. He pulled his frame up and down again with a sigh. His arm still hurt, but he fought through it. He'd have to heal at some point.

He hoped—though not too strongly—that Steph would realize how wrong she was. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Fallacious in every sense of the word. The Shield wasn't holding him back. He fought for his team everyday. In fact, he wondered if he knew more about being part of a team than Roman or Dean did.

They needed him.

Didn't they?

Perhaps they didn't realize it, the way the two constantly drooled over one another. But they stuck around, as did he. Surely on some level they realized what he meant to the team…and Roman hadn't _exactly_ deserted him, at the mercy of Randy Orton.

But he belonged with them.

Didn't he?

Seth pulled himself up faster and faster until the only thing he could focus on was the burn in his biceps.

Then the presence of another in the room.

Seth craned his neck and saw Dean standing there, watching him. The door was just falling closed behind him, so he obviously hadn't been there long.

"Hey," Dean said.

"Hey, yourself." Seth dropped from the bar. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore. But I'll live."

"Same here."

"Can't sleep?"

"Not exactly."

"Something on your mind?"

"Nope."

"Liar."

"How dare you." Seth grinned.

"I know your tells, Rollins. I _always_ know when you're lying."

"Oh, yeah?"

"When you've been friends with someone for as long as we have, yeah, it gets pretty easy to tell."

Seth pursed his lips. That word tweaked his heart harrowingly. _Friends_.

"Wanna talk about it?" Dean asked. His blue-green eyes ignited with compassion.

 _Goddammit, Dean. Why is it so hard to say no to you_?

"If you're willing to listen."

"Wouldn't have dragged my tired ass out of bed if I wasn't."

Seth lowered himself onto a narrow workout bench. Dean sat down close next to him. Seth was aware of the heat protruding off Dean's skin. Their hands had no choice but to be close. Seth practically felt electricity in the millimeters between their fingers.

"Steph met up with me to talk."

"When?" Dean asked.

"Before Raw." It was the truth, sort of.

"What the hell did she want?" The concern in his voice was telling, irresistible.

"Same old, same old. Trying to lure me away from you guys. Break up the Shield, again."

"And rejoin the Authority?"

"No. Be my own superstar. Have my own name, outside the Shield."

"Oh." A thick silence lingered before Dean mustered up something else to say. "And you're…thinking about it?"

"Oh, no, no, no," Seth clarified. "God, no. Never."

"Good. Cause I'd hunt you down and kick your ass if you ever left us." Dean nudged Seth's shoulder with his own. Seth hoped Dean couldn't detect the goosebumps pricking at his skin.

"And I definitely don't want that. No, Dean, you don't have to worry about me leaving."

"So what's the problem, then?"

Seth scratched the back of his head. "I'm just wondering, you know, if you guys…actually, really, _need_ me."

"Why would you think otherwise?"

"I mean, you've got Roman, Roman's got you. You're together now, and I'm so happy for you guys." _Ha, you're such a liar_! a voice denounced him. He talked loudly over it. "I just want to make sure I'm not in the way of anything. A burden. A third wheel keeping a sick-ass bicycle on the same level as a kiddie tricycle."

"Seth." Dean closed the gap between their fingers, taking hold of Seth's hand. Seth was sure he meant it in a cordial way, brotherly, comforting, but _fuck_ if his heart wasn't pounding nearly through his ribcage at the touch. Could Dean feel it? "Listen to me. You ready for this? Roman and I are happy together. But we're also happy together, with you. This reunification, getting the team back together. Honestly? There's nothing in the world that made me happier."

Seth's heart blossomed. There was no way Dean couldn't feel the quickened pulse in his fingertips. "Really?"

"Of course. Wrestling is my life. Wrestling found me. And everything I love in this life stems from it. You're my family, Seth. You and Roman both are. I wouldn't trade you guys for anything in the world."

Seth was a bit discontented to be held on the same level as Roman in this conversation, even though he knew Dean loved Roman more than him. They were dating, for God's sake. Of course he loved Roman more. But still he was enamored with Dean and his kind words.

"So don't let Steph, Triple H, Kane, any of those guys worm their way into your head." He wiggled his finger, symbolizing a worm, and touched Seth's forehead. "Whatever they feed you is 100% pure bullshit. Don't you ever listen to whatever they have to say, because they're wrong."

 _Wrong is right. Wrong, wrong, wrong_.

"I'd lose my mind if I didn't have you."

Seth licked his lips. "What about Roman?"

"Roman too, sure. Of course."

Seth smiled grimly. He didn't believe it. Roman didn't allow himself to care for much in the world. Seth figured Roman assumed it made someone weak. Dean was an outstanding exception. Seth could sure as hell admit to himself that he liked Dean a little more than Roman. It wasn't a new feeling; he always had. "Thanks, Dean. Hearing that means…you have no idea."

"Sure thing, bro." Dean opened up his arms. Seth winced inwardly at the word _bro_ and fell into Dean's heartfelt hug. God, it felt good. Dean was so unbelievably wonderful and sweet and funny and crazy and adorable and awesome—

"You ready to try for bed again?"

Dean pulled out of the hug and patted Seth's shoulder. The notion was unmistakable this time. It was the tap of a brother, a friend. Nothing more.

"Sure. I think so, yeah." Seth exaggerated a yawn, though he sure didn't want this to end. Dean needed his sleep, though. And if Roman woke up and found Seth and Dean both gone, he might have been suspicious. It was better for everyone—almost everyone—to call it a night.

At least Dean had helped him smile again.

Seth held the door open for Dean. "Thanks, Dean. For everything."

"Anytime, dude. Anytime."


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys! I'm so sorry this took a while to update. I'm working two jobs now: part-time toy store cashier and part-time nanny. It's fun to be me. :) Unfortunately it leaves for very little writing time, so I try to squeeze in what I can! I've got some big ideas for this story, and it all starts when Seth, Dean and Roman decide to finally fight back against the battle against them...but they set themselves up for consequences subsequently on the brink of a war. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Days Until WrestleMania: 19**

Shield 2.0 ate breakfast together early the next morning before checkout.

Seth looked exhausted. He blinked his billowing eyes aggressively to keep himself awake. Dean pitied him. Orton must have really been getting to him. Whether he wanted to admit it or not. Seth wasn't the type to admit when he was afraid or hurt or needed help, not too often.

Roman should have known what was going on. He didn't want to speak on Seth's behalf, but it was better if everything was out in the open between them. As a team, they could solve anything.

He gave Seth an imploring look. Seth looked hesitant. He slid a piece of bacon into his mouth and looked down at his plate. Dean refused to release his beseeching gaze. Seth knew it was still on him, and he pressed his lips together.

"Roman," he said at last. "Gotta tell you something."

"Sure, what is it?" Roman asked.

Seth sighed, puffing his bangs out. "Steph told me the other night that I wasn't going to be champion for long. Not as long as I stay with you guys."

A growl rumbled deep in Roman's throat. "What'd you say to her?"

"I all but told her to go to hell. I wish I would have, now that I think about it. But that was before Orton ambushed me. I'm pretty sure she set it up. Wouldn't surprise me if she got Sheamus to attack Dean, too."

"I figured as much. What the hell's her problem? What's she after?"

"Our destruction," Dean said. "The Authority clearly can't stand how amazing we are."

"She thinks using your championship as leverage will lower your guard," Roman said. Seth agreed with a nod.

"I'm sick of it." Roman clenched his hand around his spoon, shaking the utensil. "Wish they'd just back off already. I tried to warn them."

"So how do we handle it?" Dean asked.

"We do what we always do, Dean. We fight back."

* * *

After breakfast, in the hotel lobby, Roman called Stephanie McMahon up.

"Hello."

"Steph. It's Roman."

A pause Roman didn't miss. "Hello, Reigns. What brings you on the line today?"

"I want a match against Sheamus on Thursday."

Steph snorted. "Against Sheamus? Why?"

"You know damn well why."

"Oh, because he pummeled your Dean? Thinking you'll get even with him?"

"All I want is a match with him. Just us. Nobody else."

"You don't want your band of brothers along for the ride?"

"What part of _just us_ isn't making sense to you, McMahon?"

"The entirety of it, Reigns. You're usually not on a scene without your pets behind you."

"This is personal."

"I'm sure it is," Steph said, sounding amused. "Well, I'm sorry to say Sheamus already has a match that night."

"Against who?" Roman was certain he could trade with anyone for that spot.

"Ambrose."

Roman almost gasped. "Dean? Why? They already had it out recently." _More than once, as a matter of fact_.

"It's a two-on-two match. Sheamus and King Barrett versus Ziggler and Ambrose. A promotion for the Fatal 4-Way at WrestleMania." Roman could imagine Steph sitting in her office as she explained this, perhaps twirling a pen around her thumb, sitting in a leather spinning chair in front of an oak desk. Everything was business to her. Nothing else mattered. She didn't understand _personal_. "But I'm sure if I pass the message along to him, he won't have a problem with it. If you can fight more than once in a night, I'm sure he could."

Roman stomped that night from memory. The night the Authority had put him in _three_ matches in a single night, punishing him for Dean stealing Seth's championship belt. "Yeah, _I'm_ sure you won't have a problem interfering, Steph. Arranging things in a specific way off the beating path."

"What are you implying, Reigns?" He heard the smile in her voice. Cold, calculating, a reflection of the lack of heart within her.

"Don't lie to me, woman. You were behind that blitz on Dean. It all fell into place perfectly to get Seth alone so Orton could handle him."

"That made for an interesting conclusion, didn't it? I'm surprised Dean is still functioning. He _is_ functioning, right? Or is he in a full body cast?"

Was that the plan? To absolutely destroy Dean? Why? What did Dean have to do with anything? What was this supposed vendetta against him? It aggravated Roman. "Stay the hell away from Dean, Steph. And stay away from Seth. He told me you tried turning him to the dark side again recently. It's not happening."

"That's what he said. But actions speak louder than words, honey. It's only a matter of time before you realize what's most important to him."

"He doesn't give a shit about his championship compared to how much love and respect he has for his team." Roman spoke it in confidence, wanting to believe it. He knew Seth cared about the team, a lot. But he wasn't exactly sure if the championship meant that little to him by comparison.

"I'm not talking about his championship, dumbass."

"Then what are you talking about?"

"Oh…you mean…you don't see it? You really don't see what's going on, do you?" Steph laughed heartily. "Like I said, hon. Matter of time."

"What?"

"I'll see you Thursday, Reigns."

She ended the call.

 _Conniving bitch_.

Roman met up with Seth and Dean outside the hotel.

"Hey," Dean said. "Did she go for it?"

"I think the match can be arranged," Roman said, mocking Steph's pragmatic tone. "If this works, our message to the Authority, to Sheamus, to Orton, to _all_ of them, will be loud and clear. _Nobody_ messes with the Shield."

"You're goddamn right," Dean said, howling.

The brothers put their arms together, denoting their wholeness as a team. Dean's words chimed in Roman's head like a great song stuck in your head.

Nobody messed with them.

 _You're goddamn right_.

* * *

 **Days Until WrestleMania: 17**

The weekly WWE shows were flourishing with vim, the sooner WrestleMania drew near. Roman had been so focused on getting Dean and Seth through it unharmed that he nearly forgot about his own match for that night: the U.S. Championship Title Match against Kevin Owens.

There was a promotion for that match on tonight's episode of SmackDown, too. It was one of the very first things to go down. Roman waited for Kevin Owens to stop prattling on about what it meant to be a "real man", a "real champion", a nasty word or two about former United States Champion John Cena, hypocritical preach about respect and disrespect. Then Roman walked to his entrance music down the black steps, off to the side of the BOK Center instead of up front like the other wrestlers. This was so annoying. He knew Kevin Owens would refuse to fight him, as he did every week, wanting to wait till WrestleMania to show Roman what a "true champion" looked like. All talk and a feeble bite. Owens in a nutshell.

Roman claimed a microphone from the announcer's table and hopped over the ropes. Owens stared him down condescendingly with a cocked head and a permanent scoff lodged behind his smirking lips.

"It's funny how many times we've done this, Owens," Roman said. "Annoyingly funny. Or, maybe it's just annoying. What is the point of doing this? What's the point of doing _anything_ you do?" Roman grinned at the enthusiastic giggles and hoots behind his words. "Why do you even come out here to talk if all you're gonna do is walk away?"

Kevin Owens walked himself in a circle, hands on his hips, as though Roman was a child throwing a tantrum and he was a fed-up parent. "You talk about being a champion. Being a winner. You go on and on and on and _on_ about how you'll definitely defeat me, oh, just not right now. You'll teach me a lesson in dignity and success, but oh, you don't need this match right now, let's just wait till WrestleMania. But let me ask you. What kind of man stands there and talks without the ability to back it up? Practice what he preaches? You come out here, run your mouth about being titleholder, being a winner, then turn around and run away without even _thinking_ about facing me for a _moment_ before WrestleMania. I guess you haven't learned your lesson since John Cena. You wanna be a champ? Prove it."

Owens's nostrils flared. His bottom lip jutted out like he was pouting—or considering something.

"You know what?" he asked. "I don't need this from you tonight, Reigns. And you sure don't need anything from me. Because, in case all of you weren't aware by now…" Owens turned to address the audience. "Roman Reigns has asked for a match against Sheamus tonight. And I wouldn't want to take away from Sheamus's playtime with Mr. Reigns here."

As though on cue, green lights flickered and Sheamus's music blared. Instead of making a theatrical entrance, taking his time in stride the way he usually would, Sheamus sashayed towards the ring with a scowl. Roman just pursed his lips and watched him approach. This hadn't been expected right now, but he was ready. He hoped Seth and Dean were, too.

Kevin Owens hopped out of the ring and waved towards Roman with one arm, as though to say to Sheamus, "All yours." Owens was out as quick as Sheamus arrived.

Sheamus paced in front of Roman, angry yet smiling. "Do you have any idea what you're doing?" he asked, only so Roman could hear him.

"No," Roman lied. "Not at all."

"You really think this silly little match is the best way to get revenge for what I did to Dean?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna beat the crap out of you. Make you back off."

Sheamus laughed. "I hope Dean isn't as big of a pussy as you. He's about to watch me demolish you."

Roman just smirked.

Announcements were made on behalf of each wrestler. When the bell rang, Sheamus charged forward.

Tried to.

Dean Ambrose and Seth Rollins had sneaked up on him from behind. Dean stood on the top rope, balancing himself steadily, waiting for the cue of the bell. When it clangored, he leaped off and tackled Sheamus to the mat. Sheamus was dazed. Dean rolled off of him, out of Seth's way. Seth crashed into him, pinning his elbows to the mat with his knees, slugging him again and again and again in the face. He lifted to his feet, scaled the ropes, and dove onto Sheamus, drilling his pointed elbow into Sheamus's ribcage.

Sheamus's body rumpled up as pain devoured him.

But the Shield wasn't done.

Dean and Seth lifted Sheamus up, his arms over their shoulders. Roman let out a wild howl. He took his place, hoisting Sheamus's legs over his shoulder, and the team Triple Powerbombed him. He wasn't moving much after the final attack.

"Yeah, fucker!" Dean cackled, unable to resist kicking Sheamus just once more.

Roman grinned at him and Seth. He couldn't believe Sheamus had actually gone for it. Whatever had been going through his mind before was surely gone now, superseded by the humiliation of being stormed by Shield 2.0.

And chances were he was not going to participate in the two-on-two match against Dean and Ziggler later.

The team put their arms together and stared out at the crowd, roaring and hollering and chanting their name on.

* * *

Stephanie McMahon impatiently tapped a heel while waiting for Sheamus in the parking lot behind the stadium. He wanted to talk. She couldn't _imagine_ what about.

The pale warrior was red with rage and purple from developing bruises. One nasty contusion in particular surfaced on his lower chest where Seth had elbowed him. He walked with a limp, cradling his injured ribs. Even in the brisk night, Steph could practically see steam rising off his mohawk.

"Bad night, huh?" she asked.

"I want them _gone_ , Stephanie," Sheamus snarled. "I don't want to wait until WrestleMania to end Dean Ambrose's career. I don't even want to wait until Raw. I want the Shield _gone_."

"Sheamus, whatever you do to them outside my own or my company's consent is on you. I have nothing to do with it."

"You had plenty to do with arranging my attack on Ambrose. Not that I wasn't happy to oblige. But you can't say you have nothing to do with this."

"You're not hearing me, Sheamus. I said whatever you do _outside_ this company is on _you_. Meaning you can do whatever. You want. To the members of the Shield. And it's out of my control, and they're beyond my help."

Sheamus's lips twitched. "Anything?"

"As long as you're not stupid. If any outside factors happen to alter the programs, then I'll just have to work around them. But what those factors are specifically, how they execute themselves and by whom, that's none of my business."

"If they _all_ happen to be razed by the time WrestleMania comes around…"

"I've worked miracles before. I'll arrange something."

Sheamus spit a clump of blood onto the concrete. "You know Ambrose and Reigns are together?"

"Of course they are. We all called that a while ago."

"It's sickening."

Steph shrugged a shoulder. "All I have against those two is they're tiring little pricks who deserve to get knocked down a peg or two."

"You're in control of that! You can make it happen! So far, that's all you've done."

"I've tried everything, Sheamus. But they have minds of their own. They can counter any attack I give them. They're too strong."

"They're strong together. Individually, though, they're feeble."

Steph nodded. She eyed the crystals in the black sky. "The Shield is a strong body with a few different functioning parts. Reigns serves as the brawn, the muscle, the strength. Rollins serves as the brains, the intellect, the brainpower."

"And Ambrose?"

"That's easy. Ambrose is the heart of the entire troupe. The soul. The core."

Sheamus's eyes twinkled. "Ambrose is…"

"The weak link. The Achilles heel in that otherwise heavy-duty armor. You've probably caught onto the darling little affiliation between Reigns and Ambrose. But don't stop there. Rollins might be an arrogant son of a bitch, but he's got a stopping point, too. One very similar." She smiled at him in the dark. "Do with that information what you will."

"Thank you, Steph. I'll make you proud, chief."

"It's none of my business."

"Right."

"Go get checked out by the medical staff already. Or else you'll be stuck in the ER all night."

Sheamus stalked off. Already he was scheming.


	8. Chapter 8

**Here's chapter eight for you, my lovelies! This one is the setup for a really suspenseful scene coming up...can't wait to share it!**

 **PS; I really hate writing Randy as a villain, because I love him so much! But I'm having fun with him regardless. ;)**

* * *

Dean couldn't—and wouldn't—shut up.

"Did you see his freakin' face when we came out of nowhere?" he hollered, dancing towards the rental car in the parking lot. He'd skip ahead, charged by elation, then force himself to stay put until Roman and Seth caught up. "He looked ready to shit his pants. Holy hell. That was fantastic. Job well done, gentlemen."

"Yeah, but I'm thinking it won't be enough to stop him," Seth said. "If anything, we pissed Sheamus off all the more."

"Yeah, but we've also managed to prove a point," Roman pointed out. He fished the car key from his pocket as they neared the vehicle. "Steph tried to get you to leave us, and you didn't. Sheamus tried to rattle us by attacking Dean, and we might have been shaken, but we didn't break. Tonight proves our loyalty to each other. It's unyielding."

"Okay, _One Tree Hill_ ," Dean teased. "I'm kidding. Come here. You doing okay?"

Dean swathed Roman in his arms and pecked him briskly on the lips.

"I'm fine. What about you?"

"Oh, I'm swell and dandy."

Roman chuckled, and looked to Seth while unlocking the door. "How 'bout you, little brother? You feeling okay?"

"Never better," Seth said. He crawled into the backseat. Roman always hated placing him there, like it was some kind of punishment, sitting alone for every ride. Not to mention sleeping alone in his bed every night. But at that point it was routine, and Seth never seemed to have a problem with it.

"Damn, I'm tired though," Dean said through a yawn. Roman started up the car, and Dean fumbled to pull his seatbelt on. "Do we have to get up so early for the airport tomorrow? Can we sleep in at least a _little_?"

"That's not a bad idea."

Seth pressed his head against the window and let out a slow sigh so nobody could detect it. Secretly he wished someone would. Ask him what was wrong and refuse to quit badgering him until he caved and admitted it.

"Sometimes the exhaustion just gets to me. Thinking about what we do, all the time, year round. You know what we need? A vacation."

"We don't travel enough?" Roman asked, arching one eyebrow in similar fashion to his cousin, The Rock.

"You know what I mean. A _real_ vacation. But no hotels. I'm sick of hotels."

"What did you have in mind?"

A smile spread across Dean's face. "A cozy little ski resort in a mountain town. A treehouse in a lush forest in South America. A nice little bungalow ranch on the beach. Actually, screw the ranch—I'll just sleep in the sand."

"The tide would come in and carry you out," Seth said. He ached for a vacation as well. But he knew what to look forward to on such a trip. It wouldn't be any different than what he experienced daily, nightly, now.

"That's fine. I'll wake up floating on a gentle giant sea and watch the sun rise over the horizon. Then eventually swim back to you guys."

"Tell you what," Roman said. "After WrestleMania, let's do it. The three of us, on vacation, anywhere in the world you want. If Steph has a problem with a two-week absence from us…"

"She can kiss my sculpted ass," Dean snickered.

Roman drove the car through a forested area. Tall trees obstructed the pale glimmer of the huge moon, and both sides of the road declined towards steep embankments of dirt and fallen leaves. Roman took this road easy. The speed limit was 35 for a reason.

"Is it me, or has that car been on our tail since we left?" Seth asked, head veered, eyes focused out the back window.

Roman eyed the vehicle behind them in the rearview mirror. His brights were on. That was annoying. The glaring headlights made it difficult to identify the car, or the driver.

"What makes you think that?" Roman asked.

"Call me paranoid, but I swear it pulled out of the parking lot just after we did and—"

Seth was interrupted by a jolt. The car had suddenly rammed the rental. Seth's body lurched forward against the tight seatbelt. Dean held his neck, pained by the impact. Roman gripped the steering wheel tight to maintain control of the vehicle.

"What the hell?" he wondered aloud.

Abruptly the car screeched past Roman's on the narrow road, pulling up right beside them on Dean's side. Roman tried to speed up to get away from this lunatic, but the driver was clearly insane—and determined. The tires whirled left. The car struck the rental's bumper, knocking it off its smooth course. Roman yanked on the steering wheel to preserve control. Another hit was too much for the little car to take. The rental swerved directly to the left with enough power to charge down the embankment unstoppably. It gained speed, gained air, and managed to flip forward before smashing into a tree.

The last thing Roman remembered before subsiding to a black unconsciousness was the feel of Dean's hand in his and Seth's arms around his and Dean's shoulders.

* * *

" _Roman!"_

 _"Get your goddamn hands off him—"_

 _"Shut the fuck up."_

 _"Come on. Move it."_

 _"I will kill you."_

 _"Don't hurt him. Please."_

 _"ROMAN!"_

The voices were dreams. Unreal. Just dreams…

Or were they?

Roman woke to an overpowering pain in his head. He lifted an arm—also throbbing, upon motion—to inspect the damage. He was bleeding pretty badly from his forehead. He coughed. His chest was tight.

It was hard to move otherwise.

Dean. Seth. Where were they?

"Dean," Roman said. His throat hurt. He swallowed against the pain. "Dean. You okay?"

He remembered the crash. That was real. The proof was in the pain. But the voices. Had that happened while he was out or were they merely hallucinations?

"Seth." No answer. "Seth!"

Why was it so dark?

Oh. His eyes were closed.

Roman pulled them open.

He was still in the car. Traces of what _had_ been a windshield clung to each other weakly. He felt the tug of gravity drawing him downwards. His locked seatbelt kept him from falling through the front of the car.

In spite of the pain he turned his head towards the passenger seat. Empty. Dean was gone.

Seth wasn't in the backseat, either.

Had they escaped?

He pretended they'd been able to jump out of the car in the nick of time. They were alive. Safe. Unharmed. Had to be.

Roman unfastened his seatbelt and shoved through the crumpled door. He stumbled like a drunkard into the…what the hell time was it? The dark sky indicated nighttime, but a faint glow in the atmosphere hinted it was near dawn. It was cold, damn cold, especially without his jacket. He'd given that to Dean a little while ago…

Was Dean wearing it? Was he cold?

Where the fuck was he?

Looking at the car, crinkled like a toy stepped on by a giant, made the pain in his head worse. Roman turned away from it. What the hell happened?

His eyes rose towards the top of the embankment from where the car had taken a plunge. Forcefully. Someone had done this to them, _on purpose_. He found he wasn't quite alone. An older woman was watching him, hands cupped over her mouth.

"Oh, my God," she said. "Are you okay?"

Roman couldn't answer. He wasn't quite sure himself. He started to lose his balance and pressed his hand against the ruptured car door.

Something caught his attention. A piece of paper stuck to the door.

A handwritten note. The penmanship was not some he recognized.

The taut feeling in his chest only aggravated as he read over the scribbled words.

The woman was carefully making her way down the embankment. "I'm calling the police," she said, phone in hand. "Do you need an ambulance?"

 _I need you to be quiet for just a second_ , Roman said. His hands clenched into shaking fists as he read the note over and over again. It tore in his trembling grip. No matter how many times he read it, he couldn't quite make out the truth of it.

 **WE HAVE SETH AND DEAN.**

 **CALL ME ON DEAN'S PHONE WHEN YOU WAKE UP.**

 **-GREAT WHITE & APEX PREDATOR**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey guys! Here's chapter nine for you, which unfortunately ( or fortunately? :) ) provides even more nail-biting suspense! I'd give anything to not go to work today and write the next chapter this afternoon, but duty calls. Will update again soon, I promise! Until then, sink your teeth into this tension! As always, reviews and ratings are highly appreciated! You guys are awesome.**

* * *

A strong, gritty scent irritated Dean's nostrils, pulling him from a comatose state. The smell was only getting stronger. Its heavy presence in the air—wherever here was—gained Dean his senses back quickly. He couldn't move his arms or legs. He was sitting upright. Something was over his mouth.

He heard something pouring. Like a stream down a mountain.

Dean opened his eyes. Even with little light, he made out the figure across this room—cold, damp, was this a basement?—pouring a dark-colored liquid from a great red canister. Oh, it was gasoline. He recognized it, then his insides twisted into knots. Someone was pouring gasoline about and he was immobilized.

The figure circled around, still bearing the canister, and noted Dean had awoken. "Did you sleep alright, Ambrose? Feeling rested?"

That accent. His mohawk. As the silhouette moved closer, Dean caught onto the fiend responsible for his current predicament. Sheamus.

He opened his mouth to demand answers. He remembered then something was mashed across it. Tape or something. It felt sticky, itchy. Sheamus grinned at him.

"What? Nothing to say for once? That's a relief."

Dean tried lifting his arms. He was bound to a chair. _Fuck, does this feel familiar. PTSD kicking in real fast_ …

The smell of gasoline was overwhelming. It churned Dean's stomach, made him feel like gagging through his gag. He fought the urge to pass out again. He didn't think it would be good for anyone if he resorted to unconsciousness once more.

He tried to speak regardless of the tape. "Where's Roman and Seth? What did you do to them?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, laddie, I can't quite make out what you're saying. You've got a little…" Sheamus raised a skeletal finger to his pink lips, then snickered. "I assume you're queuing about your friends. Don't worry. I'm sure Roman will ring me up any minute now."

Dean snarled, thrashing against the bondage. No. This couldn't happen. Whatever trap this was, whatever Sheamus had planned regarding a bound Dean and gasoline, was _not_ good. Roman couldn't be here. And what about Seth? Sheamus hadn't mentioned him.

Was he still alive?

Sheamus patted Dean's cheek with firmness, leaving behind a stinging red imprint. "There, there, wee Ambrose. I have a bet going on with my boy that Roman will come for you. After all, the two of you have a _very_ special bond, right? No way he'd leave you behind. Rollins, though, can't say the same for him." Sheamus shrugged his shoulder in a casual _ah well_ fashion. "Maybe if the roles were reversed, it'd be a much more difficult choice."

Choice? What the hell was he talking about? Dean let out a string of cuss words, racial slurs, through the gag. Of course Sheamus understood _those_. He took a handful of Dean's hair and punched him in the jaw, forcing his neck to whip. Dean's words were replaced by grunts and groans as his body absorbed the pain.

A ringtone chimed in the dark. It was Dean's phone, his special ringtone for Roman. He didn't miss the look of absolute bliss on Sheamus's face when he drew the phone from his back pocket and looked on the screen.

"Mr. Reigns. Nice to hear from you at last."

"Where the hell are they?" Roman barked.

"You'll have to be more specific, laddie. Who's 'they'?"

"Quit fucking playing games with me, Sheamus. You know who 'they' are."

"Well, I've got Dean here with me in a vacant house on Yorktown Avenue. Rollins is with Randy. You'll have to call him up to find out where he's got your baby brother stashed."

So Seth was alive. That was a relief. But he wasn't here, or anywhere around. Dean shook violently in his bondage. With Seth under Orton's watch, there was no telling what his current—or future—wellbeing was.

"If you hurt them, Sheamus, so help me _God_ , I will—"

"You'll face reality, that's what. To be honest, the past doesn't matter now. It's what lies ahead that's crucial. As long as you don't have a concussion, you should be able to get here fast enough to save one of them."

"Save…one of them, what—"

"Neither of them have much longer to live, Reigns. Not enough time to reach them both before its too late. So who's it gonna be? Ambrose or Rollins? The love of your life, or someone you've had some _serious_ issues with in the past? To me the choice is clear, but I have to remind myself you're the _heroic_ type who feels he has to save _everybody_. I'd hate to be in your shoes right now."

"Sheamus."

"Goodbye, Reigns. See you soon, maybe."

"Sheamus, wait—"

Sheamus dropped the phone back into his pocket. "Knowing what Randy's got planned for Rollins, I'd give you both, oh…half an hour, at most. I hope Roman's a quick thinker."

A string of sweat rimmed Dean's hairline. He couldn't tell if it was tears or beads of perspiration gliding down his cheeks now. Perhaps a combination of both to speak for the rage and terror boiling him alive from the inside out. A sadistic choice. He couldn't handle it. He didn't bother wondering who Roman was going to save, he didn't wish it was him or selflessly reject his safety in favor of Seth's. He wanted to believe they'd _all_ make it out alright.

"By daybreak, the Shield will be broken," Sheamus said. He lifted the gasoline canister and showered its remains onto Dean's bound figure. The liquid stung his eyes, made his throat burn with acid. He wanted to hurl. "In one way or another."

He spun away from Dean, ignoring Dean's screams of protest, and disappeared into a dark corner. Loud footsteps rattled in the dark room. He was moving up and away. This was a basement.

Dean had to think fast.

He rocked back and forth in the chair, trying to tip it. Perhaps it would break colliding with the concrete ground, and he could wrestle out of these ropes. The chair tipped onto its right legs, then left, then back to the right. The motion made him dizzy. He mustered all possible strength until the chair finally lost balance on its right side and collapsed. Dean's head smacked against the hard ground. Now his vision was far worse. Pain circulated in his cranium. He felt like vomiting again. The smell wasn't helping.

And neither was the next scent his nose twitched upon detecting.

Smoke.

Dean took a gasp in through his nose, one that made him choke and spurt, when he caught an orange radiance near where Sheamus had vanished. The fire was above him. First floor. He was safe, for now, until the flames skated down the stairs upon the gasoline river like blades on a frozen pond, right towards him dripping body. Assuming the blaze didn't devour the entire top floor of the home first and force the building to collapse, right on top of him.

Assuming the smoke didn't blacken his lungs and smother him first and foremost.

 _Fuck_. Dean had never felt so helpless.

He wouldn't give up. He had to keep fighting for Roman, for Seth.

* * *

Seth was claustrophobic.

He'd never admitted it to anyone, but it was one of his greatest fears. Tight spaces freaked him out. Made him feel like an inferior rat, trapped, helpless, and the worst feeling of all, alone.

When his eyes opened and his nose met with a scratchy surface, he gulped back a scream. It was dark and he felt enclosed. He couldn't move his body much without feeling that scratchy surface, that wood, all around him, head to toe. He scarcely had the room to flail like he so desperately wanted to do. He was forced to assume a position with his hands tight against his sides and his legs together, feet touching, toes up. Like he was a mummy.

Was he?

What was this? A box?

Or…a coffin?

In his state of mind, it sure felt like a coffin.

As Seth's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he became aware of his surroundings. The air, what little there was in this confinement, was musty and stuffy. He didn't have much of it and he became aware of this as quickly as he did of his locality. He had to fight with everything he had, physical and mentally, not to panic. Panic meant breathing harder, faster, and that meant losing air much quicker than he wanted.

He had to get out of here.

Seth sucked in a deep breath and trapped it in his lungs. With whatever space he had between his right hand and the side of this box, he rammed a fist against the wood. He looked to the side as best as he could— _ignore the small space, ignore the cramping, ignore how you can't move_ —and struck the wood over and over. He growled in frustration—a mistake, he realized as he cradled his precious oxygen once more—because he didn't have the room for his fist to make a strong enough punch to produce a result. He didn't give up. He kept hitting the wood from this tiny distance, over and over and over and over and—

The wood cracked. Finally, an opening. Seth dragged his fist back onto his leg, the skin scraping against the wood above him, resulting in two nasty splinters, and he pounded the wood once more.

This box wasn't very durable. Another hit did it. The side cracked open, letting in a spillage of dirt.

Seth coughed and wheezed and gasped as dirt clouded the entire box like a mist. He couldn't control it no matter how angrily his mind plead with his body to stop wasting all the air. He'd just lost a lot and he absolutely couldn't afford to lose anymore. He'd broken through the box and was met with dirt and dust.

That only meant one thing.

Randy Orton had seized him after the car accident and dragged him away from the scene while Sheamus grabbed Dean…Dean struggling and fighting and calling for Roman, Seth pleading and demurring and begging Sheamus not to hurt Dean…they'd left Roman behind for whatever reason, but the two of them were forced to separate and carried off to the unknown…

Then Orton had stuck an unconscious Seth in a wooden box—a makeshift coffin—and submerged him underground.

Buried alive.


	10. Chapter 10

**Hey guys! Home from work at long last, and staying up extra late to finish this chapter. Y'all better appreciate how much *I* appreciate *y'all*. ;) This chapter was painful to write. Imagining everything Roman goes through to protect Dean was actually painful for me, physically and emotionally. That ever happen to you before? Dx Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

Roman could barely think straight. His vision was failing. He blamed the lack of light in the atmosphere, any injuries sustained from the crash, and the arrant aggravation he felt towards Sheamus and Randy Orton, not to mention the fear depleting him of a rational mind.

He struggled to dial Seth's number, not looking forward to what he'd hear once someone answered.

"Reigns!" Orton's voice was unmistakeable. He sounded delighted.

"Where is he?" Roman said, stating it more than asking. He was out of breath, and his voice came out gruffly. "Where's Seth?"

"Cozy little pasture off Shell Creek Road. Look for a black truck. Might be a twenty minute drive for you, if you're still at the crash site. Better hurry. Your boy's feeling pretty low."

The call ended.

Roman allowed himself a moment to panic. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck, fuck_ ," he voiced, pacing on the side of the road. "What do I do, what do I do, what do I _do_!?"

It was time to stop panicking and make a decision.

Roman considered his options. Rescuing Dean and leaving Seth behind, or vice versa, was _not_ one of them. But he couldn't do this alone. He didn't even know where he was going, and if Orton was telling the truth about Seth's faraway location, he barely had the time to save one of them, let alone the two people he loved most in the world.

He needed help.

But from whom?

Who would be willing—if they were even around—to take part in a completely random rescue mission?

Only one name came to mind.

"Pick up," Roman growled into the phone as the call rang and rang. "For the love of God, please pick up…"

"Mmmmhullo?"

"Dolph. It's Roman."

"Oh, h—" Dolph interrupted himself with a yawn. Roman couldn't afford to feel bad for waking him up so early. "Hey, Roman, wazzup?"

"Are you still in the state?"

"The state? Of Oklahoma?"

"Yes."

"I am. Lana and I are in our hotel room." Roman waited impatiently through another extended yawn. "You need something?"

"Listen to me. This is gonna sound crazy, but I'm dead serious right now. Dean and Seth are in trouble."

A pause. His voice sounded a bit less tired now. "What kind of trouble?"

"Sheamus and Orton…they kidnapped 'em both. Separated 'em. They're both in trouble and they've given me barely enough time to just save one…"

"Jesus Christ…you're serious?"

"Yes." Roman blinked at the building moisture in his eyes. "I need your help. I can't do this alone."

"Can't you call the police?"

"There isn't time!" Roman hushed his voice, feeling bad for snapping like that. "Dolph, you actually give a shit about us. I'm trusting you to help me out here. I need you. Please."

"Okay. Okay, Roman, how can I help, though?"

"I need you to go after Seth and Orton. Orton said they were in some pasture off Shell Creek Road. You know where that is?"

"No, but Google is a wonderful tool."

Roman smiled grimly. "Arm yourself. Don't go alone. I don't know what Orton's got going on over there, but he has Seth, and I need you to be careful or you'll both be gone."

A car was approaching. Roman stood in the middle of the road, waving for assistance. The driver craned his neck towards Roman, then sped up and left him behind on the stretch of country road.

 _Fuck you too, sir_.

"Okay, hang on…dude, I just can't believe they'd go this far. Sheamus hit Dean up pretty bad last week, but _kidnapping_? For why? What for?"

"I don't know." Roman didn't feel like explaining. "They're dicks."

Roman overheard a sleepy Lana in the background asking what Dolph was up to. He tried to calm her, assure her everything was alright and she should go back to sleep. He just had to go out for a little while. The tightness in Roman's chest subsided slightly. He couldn't believe Dolph was actually willing to lend a hand, put his own safety in jeopardy.

"I will personally beat the shit out of these two, by myself," Dolph said. "Ambushing someone like that is bad enough. But resorting to _kidnapping_?"

"You might say we're used to this shit."

A motorcycle rounded the bend in the road. Roman stayed where he was, in the motorcycle's way. He wasn't waiting any longer. The driver would either have to run him over or stop. He opted for the latter.

"What the hell, man?" the driver yelled.

Roman slid the phone into his pocket for the moment, grabbed the motorcyclist by his leather jacket, and flung him off the bike. The man shrieked as he struck the asphalt. Roman hopped onto the motorcycle and reclaimed his phone.

"I've got GPS on my phone. I'm punching in the street Sheamus said he's got Dean at. Not sure how I'll find him from there, but it's a start. Orton said look for a black truck, so there's a hint for you."

"Sure, yeah. I'll keep you updated on my progress, okay?"

"Dolph…I can't thank you enough, man. For even answering, let alone—"

"Save the mushy shit for when we get Dean and Seth back alive, okay?"

"Sure. I owe you."

"Yeah, yeah. Go save your boo thang."

Roman hung up, revved the engine, and left the motorcyclist behind to wonder what the hell had just happened.

He didn't know what the speed limit was and he sure as hell didn't care. Roman pressed the bike to its full velocity, darting down the empty streets with a louder growl inside him than the motorcycle engine. He didn't know what to expect but he was ready.

Pulling onto Yorktown Avenue, it didn't take more than a moment or two for him to guess which house Dean was in.

The small home at the end of the street was expelling black smoke from every window and its chimney. Yellow and orange flames danced and lapped against the shattered windows of the first floor.

Roman dove off the bike before pulling it to a complete stop. He landed awkwardly on his feet, off-balance, and took off running towards the house. He'd beaten the firefighters here. He hoped that meant the fire was still small and hadn't done much damage to anything—or anyone—inside.

He charged up the rickety porch steps and kicked the door in. Already weak from the push of heat, the door fluttered open and rattled against a groaning wall. Roman shielded his nose and mouth with a beefy arm and squinted against the searing interior. He felt himself dying already.

"Dean!" he screamed. His lungs screamed for oxygen. Every part of him wanted to go back outside to the cool air, to safety. He went against everything that felt natural to do the dumbest of right things. He forced a cough to remove the developing carbon monoxide inside him. "DEAN!"

Inevitable tears worked to cool down his singing eyes. A smoky film overlaid the entire house, hindering his vision. The flames were taller than him, scraping against the ceiling. The point of origin was the living room. It had already spread to the kitchen, charring the room from floor to ceiling. Roman dodged walls of flame in his search for Dean. He coughed turbulently, violently. He couldn't breathe. His skin reddened worse than any sunburn he'd ever gotten in his life.

He had to find Dean and get them the hell out of here.

" _DEAN_!"

Dean was nowhere to be found on this floor. Not the kitchen nor any of the vacant bedrooms down the hall. Could it be he wasn't here after all, and he'd only played bait to lure Roman into this fateful trap…?

It was a ranch house. There was another floor. He had to check there. A hellish bulwark guarded the entrance to the basement. Roman let out a furious cry to power his inevitable movement through the blaze, taking three or four steps at a time and screaming as the fire licked his skin and singed his hair. There was the unmistakeable scent of gasoline blending with the smoke in the air, which must have fueled the strength and speed of the inferno's proliferation.

Downstairs was under attack now. Smoke occupied every molecule of oxygen in the space. The gasoline was fanning and feeding the roaring combustion in every corner. Dean was in one of these corners, lying entrapped by rope in a splintered chair just inches away from a flaming spire. He wasn't moving much.

"Oh, my God," Roman said. He swallowed a precious gulp of air and rushed towards Dean, sinking to his knees. He gently shook Dean's shoulder. "Dean? Dean. Dean, come on, please answer me."

Dean let out a string of wet coughs, then a wheezy intake, an attempt at air. "Ro—" he tried, only to hack again. His skin was awfully pale. His eyes were red and inflamed.

"Come on. We're getting you out."

"Can't move," Dean said, whimpering. "Tried…can't…"

He'd managed to do some damage to the ropes. The heat probably played a role in weakening their grasp on him as well—and also, unfortunately, weakening Dean. Roman tugged and yanked at the crisp, loosened ropes until they fell away by their own accord. He wrangled Dean's arms and legs out of their bondage. Even freed now, Dean couldn't move. Roman stripped of his shirt and draped it over Dean's head to protect his eyes and throat from any further damage.

"Come on, Dean," Roman said, lifting Dean into his arms in a cradle fashion. His body was limp in Roman's unfaltering protective hold.

He considered escape options. Going back up the stairs was out at that point. The fire had completely swallowed the staircase. Even running back through it would get Dean killed. There had to be a window or _something_ down here.

Roman crossed the hard basement floor. He dipped around a corner, less flames but more smoke. He held Dean as low as he could while upraising his own head in a painful, difficult search for a window. Near a former laundry room, stripped of a washer and dryer, he finally got his wish. A long, thin window was just above eye level at the end of this corridor.

He charged towards it, tightening his grip on Dean so not to drop him. Muscle weakness was kicking in. The flames were chasing him. There was a loud crack, and a sudden explosion to follow. What _sounded_ like an explosion. Roman realized with a quick look back that the ceiling—the floor of the living room—was collapsing. A great chunk of the floor had fallen into the basement. More was due in time.

Roman struggled to heave the tight window open with Dean in his arms. He moved Dean into just one arm, leaning on his hip, Dean's head on his burning shoulder. Roman grunted as his other arm evoked miraculous strength to haul the tenacious window open. The panel grated right, and Roman punched out the screen behind the glass. He lifted Dean as best as he could, sticking his head out the window first and pushing him outside from there, over a line of bricks and onto a section of mulch.

Dean was almost out the window completely, with his legs still sticking into the house. Roman moved to push them through the window—it was a thin panel and Dean was almost too big to fit—when he heard another crack. The ceiling behind him caved. A heap of burnt floorboards rained onto him. The wood smashed into his back, forcing him to the floor and pinning him there. A new pain alit in his lower back, and he shouted out. He was restrained in such a way that he couldn't turn to shove the boards off him. The scorching planks scalded the bare skin of his backside. Roman tried using his arms to push himself up, but his muscles were failing him. Unbelievable. He could kick out of one of Mark Henry's pins, but not this?

Then again, this wood felt it weighed a ton. It was, after all, designed to support a house.

The flames were nearly on him now. He heard another crack. Soon the entire ceiling would be atop him.

Only one thought flashed in his mind: _This is how I die. This is how I die._

He apologized to Dean. Seth. Everyone. For failing.

Suddenly a hand dangled in front of him. Roman looked up as best as he could. Dean was sticking in from the window again, reaching for him.

"Please, Roman," he rasped. "Get up. I need you. Please."

Dean obviously didn't have the strength to uplift Roman from this confinement, but seeing him awake now, hearing his pleas, fortified Roman's energy in a new brawn. Roman took Dean's hand and pulled with a determined bellow. Dean's fingers interlocked with Roman's tight as Roman's frame lugged forward. Inch by inch he moved until meeting the wall beneath the window. Dean was bent at the stomach through the window, reaching down for Roman. Roman took another breath of no air, another readied posture for movement.

He held onto Dean and cried out as he lifted up off the ground. The boards rattled against the ground behind him. Roman lunged his head and arms through the window, sucking in sweet oxygen of the morning. He could feel his head clearing already, his eyes tearing up to eradicate whatever soot had mounted in them. He pulled Dean back through the window, then heaved his own burly physique through the tiny panel. He looped an arm around Dean and army crawled with him away from the window, over the mulch, onto the green grass.

Sirens wailed in the air. Firefighters had arrived. How long had he been in that house? Felt like hours. Roman rolled onto his back and drank in the sparkling indigo sky. It was a beautiful sight.

Dean rolled onto his side, up against Roman. "Thanks, Ro," he breathed.

Roman nodded. He tried to sit up but found he couldn't. His back still hurt like mad. He put an arm over his mouth and coughed hard.

Firefighters surrounded them. Others set to work on smothering the flames. One squatted beside Roman and asked, "Is there anyone else in the house that you know of?"

Roman shook his head side to side. His skull never left the ground. He could lay here forever, watching the sky with Dean at his side.

He found he could move, eventually. Firemen walked them towards one of the trucks and sat them down, situating the wrestlers with oxygen masks and blankets. Before a brilliant sunrise, perhaps the prettiest Roman had seen in years with purples and oranges blending in the sky like a painting, Dean sat up beside him, breathing in and out with aid from the mask. Roman appreciated it with every fiber of his being once more. Dean's breath was the most precious thing in the world. Roman never wanted to lose that gift.

Dean drew the mask away from his face. "Ro, where's Seth?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Roman answered. His insides contorted again. The danger wasn't quite over yet. "Orton mentioned some pasture. I called Dolph up. He said he could lend a hand. I couldn't get to both of you in time…"

Dean laid his hand atop Roman's. "Thank you for coming for me."

"Anytime, love."

Dean laid his head on Roman's shoulder, and Roman kissed his hair. It tasted of soot and ash. In the moment neither of them could be fully relieved quite yet. They were too weak to reveal any physical signs of concern, but a fresh worry for Seth battered his heart.

Roman's phone was still in his pocket. It had somehow survived the heat and crushing. The screen was cracked, but the device seemed to work just fine. He had no messages and no calls.

He wondered if he should call Dolph.


	11. Chapter 11

**I have a lot of time on my hands today, and I'm taking advantage by writing while waiting for my laundry to finish. :P**

 **It's been brought to my attention that there are a couple of tiny plot holes that need to be fixed or patched up in the story. (The Authority's motivation, how everything ties together based on the words of Steph and the proceedings of the villains, etc.) I promise it will all come together with a nice bow on time by the end of the story! I'm always looking for critique and ideas on how to carry the story on as strongly as I can. Till then, here's the next chapter...all I can say is...hold your breath. Enjoy!**

* * *

They say when you die, you see a light at the end of a tunnel.

If you go toward the light, you have accepted your death and pass on.

If you stay away from the light, perhaps there was hope for your life to carry on.

Seth was losing it. Losing strength. Losing air. Losing time. His clothes were plastered to his body by sweat. He couldn't take a breath in without wheezing and then hawking his sweet air right back out. As rapid as his breathing was, it was short. Short, quick breaths in and out, in and out. They couldn't be helped, slowed, or avoided. His head was light. He was falling asleep. He wasn't sure how much longer he could fight that sleep.

 _Sleep and you won't suffer anymore_ , something told him.

 _No_ , he'd been shouting back. But each time he mentally voiced his dissent, the more fragile his inner expression sounded. Like he himself didn't believe how strong he wanted to be anymore. How strong he could be.

His mind hid him away from the physical world.

* * *

 _When he saw the light, naturally, he shielded his eyes, rejecting it, banning it from existence. When he peeked out, it was still there. He took a step back. The light followed him! Unbelievable. How can you reject death and accept life if the little bastard wouldn't leave you alone?_

 _He was in a tunnel. A very literal tunnel, it felt, with a long dark passage leading up to that light. And he wasn't alone in the tunnel for very long._

 _The light took the form of a shimmering angelic Dean Ambrose. He practically had wings outstretched from his white, unblemished muscle shirt. He stood where the light had been, in its place, as the light. He didn't move towards Seth nor speak a word._

 _If Seth wanted him, he had to move towards him._

 _And Seth wanted him. He couldn't resist it now._

 _Seth could breathe again. He took in gulps of air, shaky breaths, but he could walk. Move. Function. He wasn't in a box. He was in this realm with Dean, only Dean. He didn't wonder where Roman was. Roman wasn't even on his mind._

 _Seth strode towards Dean, not too slowly in case he disappeared once he got there, not too quickly so not to scare him off. He walked closer and closer until he could raise his hand and touch Dean's cheek. Dean lifted his own glowing hand and pressed his fingers on Seth's cheek. He felt warm. Good. Full of life._

 _"What is it you want, Seth?" Dean asked. He breathed in and out of his ajar mouth. His heart rate was certainly as fast as Seth's._

 _"You, alright?" Seth said softly. "It's always been you, you crazy bastard."_

 _"Why?"_

 _"Because I'm in love with you. I'm so in love with you, Dean Ambrose."_

 _"You left," Dean accused._

 _"I came back," Seth countered._

 _"And now you want to leave again."_

 _"No, I don't."_

 _"Bullshit. You're tired of being the third wheel. You want an escape, but not just any quick getaway. You want to look noble. Strong. Like you're making some sort of sacrifice. Taking one for the team. But the truth is, it kills you each and every day to watch Roman and I love each other as much as we do, knowing you'll never have that kind of love with me."_

 _Seth's eyes brimmed with tears. "No."_

 _"Don't lie to me."_

 _"I made a promise. No matter how much it hurts, I'll never leave you behind."_

 _"Seth." Dean moved his hand behind Seth's head, gently pushing Seth into him. Seth could feel Dean's breath on his lips. He wanted to taste him, God knew how much. "Is it worth it to you? To spend every day in this agony you try so hard to hide?"_

 _"You're worth it, Dean. I can't leave again. I won't. I won't!"_

 _Next Dean's hand moved beneath Seth's chin. The gentle caress tickled. Dean traced Seth's lips with his thumb. "Roman loves you too, you know. After all you've done to us, he's learned to love you again. He wouldn't want you to leave. But if he knew how much you were hurting on the inside, he would want you to go. For your sake. He wouldn't tolerate your misery. He'd want you to be happy. If you're better off without us, there's nothing we can do to change that."_

 _"That's what we're all about, right? Sacrificing our own happiness for the sake of one another. It doesn't make sense. Can't we all just get over it and live in harmony?"_

 _"Life ain't that simple, man." There was the Dean he recognized. "You either have to accept the things you can't change, or be strong enough to change what you can. If you can't accept it, do something about it."_

 _"I can't change anything. I can't have you. You're Roman's whole world. And I know you love him more than me." Seth's lip quivered. He forced his eyes down to Dean's shoes as well as his own._

 _"Then you've only got one choice."_

 _Dean inclined Seth's chin with the softest press of his fingers. Forced Seth to stare into his eyes once more._

 _"Let go," Dean beckoned._

 _"No."_

 _Dean dropped his hand. Took a step away from Seth._

 _Seth took a step forward. "Dean, please, no."_

 _"Make your choice, Seth. Continue to suffer, or let go."_

 _"No, Dean. Please, don't do this."_

 _The further Dean drew away, the faster Seth wanted to catch up to him. Throw his arms around Ambrose and sink a deep kiss into his lips the way he'd watched Roman do so many times. He wanted it. He wanted it all._

 _"Goodbye, Seth."_

 _"NO!" Seth lunged forward. He felt he could fly._

* * *

Shell Creek Road wasn't a terribly long street, thank God, and about half of it resembled pastures and open fields. The rest were parking lots for gas stations and a small car dealership.

Dolph caught sight of a black truck parked beneath a single larch tree in the middle of a viridescent field. It was the only black truck he'd seen on the drive, and up ahead he saw the road ended. This had to be it. He had to check it out, at least. Roman had said _black truck_.

He'd left his flower Lana behind at the hotel, claiming he had some personal business to handle. He didn't want her in danger like Rollins was. He pulled up close to the black truck, alone in his car. He did have a tire iron stashed in the trunk, in case something came up he couldn't handle with his own wrestling skills. Never hurt to have a little backup.

The truck seemed to be empty. Dolph circled it once, peeking through the windows for Rollins. What made the black truck such a crucial detail? Roman wouldn't have heard it from Orton, relayed it to Dolph, unless it was important, right? If Rollins wasn't inside, where the hell was he?

Nearby. Dolph had a feeling.

Near the tree, something looked slightly off, something that perhaps any other passerby would overlook because they weren't looking hard for a kidnapping victim. A particular area of dirt near the tree appeared darker than the surrounding soil, as though it had been recently overturned or dug through.

 _Could it be_?

Dolph squatted to his knees and moved handfuls of the alleged recently-circulated earth. It felt darker and wetter than the adjoining loam as well. It was loose, cold in his hand. The rest of the dirt was compacted together as though never touched before.

His suspicion strengthened. Someone had been digging here recently. And it was very close to the truck.

A thought flashed in his mind, troubling him. _What if Seth's under here_?

Dolph dug faster. His hands, large and swift as they were, were not sufficient excavation utensils. He figured Orton wasn't polite enough to leave behind a shovel for him to use. Dolph lifted to his feet, tore a thick branch from the tree with a grunt, and attempted using the limb as an improvised spade.

It was working for a while.

Until he was interrupted.

Randy Orton speared Dolph against the tree. Dolph let go of the branch, and his ribcage rattled against the thick trunk of the plant.

"Reigns doesn't get any outside help," Orton snarled. He pressed a dazed Dolph against the tree by the throat and hit him in the face once, twice, three times. Dolph had to think before he blacked out. He used both hands to hold onto Orton's brawny arm, heaved his lower body up, and used both feet to knock into Orton's chest. Orton flew back, releasing Dolph, and Dolph hit the dirt ground on his ass. He was quick to his feet in a second. He rushed towards Orton before Orton had time to regain his balance and knocked him to the ground with a swift kick to the head. Orton collapsed.

Dolph's natural instinct was to pin Orton and wait for the ref's count, but of course that wouldn't get him out of this fight. Dolph rushed to Orton and tried knocking him out with a kick to the head, but Orton caught Dolph's foot mid-kick and twisted his leg, sending Dolph to the ground.

"You figured it out pretty quick," Orton praised in spite of his vile deeds. "Faster than I guessed Reigns would have."

Dolph rolled to his feet. Orton followed suit. Dolph's priority wasn't to demolish Randy Orton, it was to save Rollins. He knew for certain now he'd been searching in the right place. But Orton wasn't going to let him get away with it that easy. So demolishing Orton was automatically part of the process.

But how to get him off his back?

Dolph spotted the truck and got an idea.

He backed up against the vehicle, in the tiny pocket between the passenger's door and the side view mirror. "Is this about the championship, Orton? You feel so threatened by Rollins defeating you at WrestleMania that kidnapping him, trying to kill him off, is the only way to win?"

Orton scoffed. "Please. I could have whooped his ass all on my own. I'm doing this as a favor."

"To who? Steph? Triple H? The rest of the Authority? Suddenly you're on the dark side again? Why?"

"Because I'm a fucking champion. They run the show, I do what they say, and they give me a little boost to the top."

"If you're constantly relying on the Authority for your own accomplishments, you're no better than Rollins was when he was a heel. At least he stands up for what he believes in. Not like you." _Just give into my bullshit goading and get the hell over here_.

"You really think you're gonna get to me this way, Dolph? You're wasting your breath. And Rollins doesn't have too much left."

"You're such a sellout little prick, Orton. Old Grandpa Bob would be so disappointed in you. No wonder your wife left you. Your daughter's ashamed to have her name forever marked on the arm of a _bitch_."

That did it.

Orton cried out angrily and charged at Dolph. He kicked Dolph's chest, and his shoulder blade collided with the mirror behind him. That was expected. He pretended to grab his shoulder, cradle it in its suffering, but it was really a move to charge a side swipe to Orton's neck. Orton coughed at the impact of Dolph's hand jabbing his throat. Dolph used both hands to seize Orton's head and ram it into the passenger window. One hit was enough to stupefy him, but Dolph was after more. He drew Orton back to get more force behind the next blow. He screamed out and plunged Orton's skull into the glass. It cracked on impact. Dolph left Orton there, leaped up, and sent a kick into his jaw. Orton's head broke clear through the glass. He was stuck, at the very least, and wasn't getting out without a shitload of pain to come.

Dolph rushed back to the tree and kept digging. Digging and digging and casting dirt aside and kicking the growing hole, drilling the tree branch like a blade into the dirt. "Come on," he pressured himself. "Come on, come on, come on…"

The tree branch rattled against something about a foot and a half into the ground. Dolph dropped the branch for now and resumed digging with his aching fingers. Not once did he spare a moment to see how Orton was doing, if he'd escaped. He finally felt the box for himself. He cast the rest of the dirt away. Through cracks in the provisional coffin—Rollins had clearly tried digging his way out before Dolph got here, a daring but treacherous attempt—he could make out the faded gold letters on Rollins's shirt.

Once enough dirt was out of the way, Dolph used the tree branch as a crowbar, prying back pieces of wood until the branch snapped under the pressure. He had enough strength left to wrench the remaining pieces away, enough of them until he could snatch Rollins by the shirt and heave him out of the box.

Seth was limp in his grasp. Dolph lifted him out of the hole and gently set him on the grass. He wasn't moving. His eyes were closed. Dolph tried checking for a pulse, but his was so high up that he was certain it was his own heartbeat he felt in his fingers on Rollins' neck.

"Shit," he said, shoving hair from his face. Bits of dirt trapped themselves in his mane, dribbled towards his eyes. He ignored it. "Shit, come on, Rollins. Roman trusted me to get you back alive. You can't be gone."

Dolph fumbled for his phone, still in his pocket. He heard glass shattering. He spun around, phone to his ear. Randy had somehow freed himself from the window. His face was spurting blood from his forehead to his neck. He didn't come after Dolph and Rollins. He threw himself into the driver's seat and peeled out of the lot.

"Fucking coward," Dolph muttered.

"911, what is the location of your emergency?" an operator answered after two long rings.

"I'm in a field on Shell Creek Road. Kinda near the next intersection on the west side. Not sure what the name of that street is. I need an ambulance, _now_. I have a dying…" _Dead_? "…man in my arms."

"Okay, sir, I need you to take a deep breath and tell me—"

Deep breath? _Oh, God, I'm an IDIOT_! He set the phone on the grass beside him, laid Rollins flat on his back, and assumed position for CPR. The operator didn't need any more information out of him for now. She had an idea about where they were. She'd send help.

Thirty chest presses. Tilt the chin, air to his lungs. More chest presses. It didn't take longer than a few minutes for ambulances to arrive. There was still hope. Rollins could make it out of this. There was still hope, still hope, still hope…hold on, Seth, hold on, please hold on…


	12. Chapter 12

**Hola, guys. :) This next chapter is shorter, but I wanted to let you guys know how Seth's doing. Big things coming up in the next chapter, though.. Enjoy!**

* * *

Dean almost refused a trip to the hospital, but Roman wouldn't let him. He needed to be checked out for smoke inhalation and several burns sustained on his arms and hands. Roman promised to go along with him. He sure needed to be on oxygen for a little while.

In the back of the rumbling ambulance, Roman's phone rang. He peeled off his oxygen mask and answered the call from Dolph.

"Hey."

"Hey. Did you get Dean?"

"Yeah, he's fine. We're going to the hospital. Where's Seth? Did you save him?"

Roman hated how long the pause was between his question and Dolph's answer. "I found him."

"And?"

"I don't know, Roman. He wasn't breathing or moving when I found him. Orton had him stuffed into a box and buried underground. Not sure how long he went without air. But they're taking him to the hospital now."

 _Shit_. Roman practically felt a heart attack coming on. "Which hospital?"

"Uh, Hillcrest? Think that's the name of it."

Roman drew the phone away from his ear and stared the paramedic down. "Which hospital are you taking us to?"

"Hillcrest Medical," the medic said.

"That's a fucking break right there. Dean and I are on our way up."

"What happened to him?"

"Sheamus tied him up and left him for dead in a fucking burning building."

"Christ!"

"Yeah. Got him out, though. Pretty badly burned. Not easy to breathe."

"I hear that. Roman, I'm sorry. If I'd gotten to Seth sooner, maybe he'd be breathing and up walking…I was there, digging him up, and Orton attacked me…not using that as an excuse, but I just feel awful that—"

"Dolph, it's not your fault. What matters is you got him out of that trap. He's on his way to treatment."

"He'll be alright. I know he will be. Don't you worry."

"Don't _you_ worry."

"Oh, shit, speaking of worry, I better phone Lana. I'm following the ambulance to the hospital. I wanna make sure he's okay. Maybe I'll meet you guys up there."

"Yeah. Sure thing."

When Roman put his phone away, Dean looked at him with tearful eyes and asked, "How is he?"

"I—I don't know yet," Roman said, biting down on his lip hard. "We'll see when we get there."

Dean let out a shaky breath. He pulled the blanket over his shoulders, nuzzled his head on Roman's shoulder. "This fucking blows, dude. This is nuts. I can't believe they're going this far just to hurt us…"

Roman put a firm hand on his knee. "We'll get past this, okay? No matter what it takes, I swear we will survive."

The rest of the ride was unsettlingly quiet.

The day whizzed past in spite of several hours of waiting. Tests, questions to answer, blood drawn, burns treated and bandaged. Roman had been put into a back brace after hearing he had a lumbar fracture due to the floorboards collapsing on him. It was a tedious process. Roman hated it, but better to be bored on the road to recovery than survive a little shorter than he or Dean were meant to because they felt tests and treatments were unnecessary.

When he received a text from Dolph claiming he had news for Roman in the lobby, he escaped his room, leaving Dean behind under the care of a flirtatious nurse. He couldn't even be jealous. Let her trifle with him, tease a bit. Dean was all his. And Roman wasn't a fan of sharing.

He stepped off the elevator and spotted Dolph sitting with Lana at a table just inside the cafeteria. He must have filled her in. Dolph stood up as Roman approached.

"What's up?" Roman asked.

"I have good news and bad news. They're one in the same, though."

"Okay?"

He took in a breath and cleared his throat. "Seth's in a coma."

It wasn't a relief nor an affliction. A coma didn't mean dead, but it didn't mean alive exactly, either. Roman let his head droop. Tears swam over his pupils. He squeezed his eyes shut, letting the drips of salty moisture hit the floor. A coma. His brother, his family, half of his entire world, was insensate for who knew how long? This couldn't be happening…

"Hey." Dolph laid a hand on his shoulder. It was comforting enough, but near an area where he'd been singed. "He's gonna wake up. He's gonna be alright. Alright?"

"We'll know when it happens," Roman mumbled. He lifted his head. "Thanks for getting him here, Dolph. I owe you my life. Seriously."

"Hey, don't mention it, Reigns. We faces have to look out for each other, right?"

Roman smiled drearily. "Did they say what room he was in?"

"Yeah. 604. I can show you the way, then I'm gonna get her out of here." He gestured to Lana.

Lana rose to her heel-clad feet and gave Roman a gentle hug. "We're here for you," she said into his ear. She ran her fingernails through his disheveled hair. "Always. You're our family, too. Okay?"

"Thanks, Lana."

* * *

It was a miserable sight.

The only signs of life Seth Rollins gave off from his bed was the quiet rumble of the machines breathing for him, keeping him alive. He was still as stone. Yet he looked so peaceful, like he was just taking a nap. His face looked fallen and upset, as though he was having a nightmare during that nap.

Dean had been holding Roman's hand, but he let go and lifted his hands over his nose and mouth seeing Seth like this. "Oh, my God," he said, voice breaking.

Roman tried to retain strength for Dean and himself. Be the brave one. But it wasn't easy. Not with everything that had happened to them lately. Not right here in this room, this moment.

Dean wandered to Seth's bedside. He ever so lightly brushed some of Seth's blonde and brown hair from his forehead. "I don't get it," Dean said unsteadily. He was ready to fall into tears. "It just looks like he's sleeping."

Roman didn't know what to say. It was true. But they both knew he really wasn't.

"How long do you think he'll be…?" Dean tried.

"There's no telling," Roman said, swallowing a lump in his throat. "Could be days…weeks…months…" He didn't want to say years. He didn't want it to be years, no way.

"I mean, he's gotta wake up at some point, right?"

"Of course. Just don't know when. Maybe the nurse can give us an estimate."

Dean looked at Roman, a suddenly look befalling him. "We have to stay here with him. We can't leave him alone. What if Sheamus or Orton comes in and…"

"I'd say don't be ridiculous, but right now I'm willing to believe they'd resort to that."

Dean dropped into the chair at Seth's bedside. "Then it's settled. We're not going anywhere."

They'd have to leave at some point, but Dean was right.

Roman took the chair next to Dean. It didn't feel right to share a seat, cuddle into one another, right now. He closed his eyes and prayed for the end of this madness.


	13. Chapter 13

**I refused to go to bed until I could bring you guys this chapter. Warning: angry Reigns ahead! Lots of language! Enjoy, my darlings. :)**

* * *

Dean was adorable when he slept.

The cafeteria was closed, but Roman had found a vending machine with decent snack options in the lobby. He'd purchased a strawberry pop-tart and a Snickers bar for himself and a bag of Cheetos and peanut M&Ms for Dean. They were his favorite candy. He was still curled up in his chair, underneath a ratty blanket the nurse had provided. They'd gotten permission to stay in the room for the night. It wasn't exactly easy protesting against two muscular guys with a sick brother in bed behind them.

Roman bent down and kissed Dean's hair. Dean cracked half a smile in his sleep. He left the candy and chips on the table near the chair and Seth's bed, trading them for the remote. He lowered into his own chair and turned the TV on. Flipped through the channels until coming across a rerun of _24_ on FX. Good enough for now. He watched the show with the volume down and closed captioning on, nibbling on his pop-tart.

He must have dozed off at some point, because he suddenly became aware of his surroundings. Something had changed in the room in his light slumber.

They weren't alone.

Roman's eyelids unlatched.

Two figures stood in the doorway. The combined light in the hallway behind them and darkness of Seth's room made them shadowy silhouettes. Roman shot out of his chair and hissed in a whisper, "Who is that?"

The two stepped forward. Roman knew exactly who they were. Triple H and Steph.

He moved protectively to the foot of Seth's bed, fists balled at his side. "What the hell are you doing here?" His voice broke whisper, a muted growl.

"And hello to you too, Roman," Steph said.

"Get the fuck out of here."

"Cool your jets, Reigns," Triple H said sternly.

"What do you want? You come here to finish the job?"

Steph looked horrified. "You think _we_ had something to do with this?"

"Of course you did! You think I'm an idiot?"

Roman heard shuffling behind him. For a moment he wildly believed it was Seth, but it was Dean shifting, awakening in his chair. "Ro—" he tried.

"Stay there, Dean," Roman exhorted. Neither of these assholes were getting near him, or Seth. Dean got to his feet, but he stayed in place behind Roman and his upraised arms, one back towards him, the other at Steph and Triple H. A protective fighter's stance, a defender.

Roman drilled a glare into Steph's widened eyes. He could have believed she was genuinely surprised to see Seth in this condition. But there was no way she could have been surprised. Not a chance. She'd orchestrated this entire thing, her _and_ Hunter. He believed it fully. "I warned you to stay away from us. I told you to stay the hell away from my family."

"Sheamus and Orton executed all of this. I had nothing to do with it." She touched her long fingers to her chest. "I wouldn't risk my career like that."

"Don't lie to me!" Roman said at a normal volume.

"Why in the _hell_ do you think I would want Rollins in a freaking _coma_?"

"You want the Shield broken up. You tried to pull him away from us. He told us everything. Guess what, princess? It didn't work. You realized it wouldn't, so you figured you'd just off him. Get rid of him one way or another."

Steph furrowed her brows. "I will admit I told Seth he could do a fine job on his own, without the two of you. He rejected that idea. Now I see even _with_ you, he fails to protect himself and the two of you. So I take it back. Rollins is inadequate, whether he's part of a team or not. And he sure as hell doesn't deserve to be champion." Her glare darkened. "But I did _not_ arrange for Ambrose nor Rollins to be kidnapped. And I certainly didn't intend for Rollins to be comatose."

"Did you arrange the attack on Dean at Raw? The ambush on Seth?"

Steph's tongue went over her lips. She was nervous. "I will admit knowledge of those particular events—"

"You fucking _set it up_! Don't lie to me!"

"Don't yell at my wife like that, Reigns." Triple H took a step forward. Roman stayed put. He refused to be shaken by a corporate snake or his bitchy spouse.

"Fine," Steph said at last. "I told Sheamus to go after Ambrose that night. He and Orton organized the assault together. It made for _thrilling_ results. That stunt you pulled, arranging a separate match for him just so Rollins and Ambrose could surprise him? Genius. _Everyone_ loved it. See, you and I, we're very similar thinkers."

Roman shouldn't have been surprised at her heartlessness. "Of course. Shoulda known this is nothing but a fucking business for you. Who gives a shit about the wellbeing of the wrestlers as long as they're bringing in more viewers? You're a real bitch, you know that, Steph?"

Triple H growled. Roman was unfazed.

"I really don't give a damn about your opinion, Reigns, to be honest," Steph said.

"Why are you here?" he stated more so than asked.

"We _truly_ came here to check on Rollins."

"Well, he's fucking perfect, can't you see?" Roman waved a hand towards the bed.

"When Randy told me what happened, we had to find out for ourselves if he was really…" Steph swallowed. Was she actually…concerned for his health? Or was this all an act? Roman could have believed either one. "Well, he's not dead. That's good. But when will he wake up?"

"I don't know, Steph, all comas are totally the same and last the exact same amount of time for every patient. I'm not buying any crocodile tears, so unless you're here to offer up a couple prayers, get the fuck out."

Triple H stepped closer to Roman. The action evoked Dean to step forward. He didn't get further than Roman's side. Roman put up an arm to block him.

Hunter pushed his face into Roman's. "Let me tell you why it's so profound that Rollins is out right now. Why we're checking up on him. WrestleMania is in two weeks, more or less." He held the number up with his fingers. "He's got a championship match against Randy Orton."

"I'm aware," Roman stated.

"If Rollins isn't present at the match, and Orton is, then Rollins will automatically be disqualified. He will lose his title, and Randy Orton will be the new WWE World Heavyweight Champion."

Roman was baffled. He didn't want it to show, didn't want to reveal any sort of crack in his resolve, but he was completely confounded by Triple H's brutality. His jaw fell open slowly. Slowly his arms lowered to his side.

"You're serious," Roman whispered.

"You can't do that!" Dean screamed.

"It's the rules," Triple H asserted. "We can't just cancel the match. That's not what's best for business. Rollins might not be able to help being in a damn _coma_ , but it's not fair for him to retain his belt when he can't even fight or defend it. It's similar to what happened with Daniel Bryan, and Rollins isn't more special than he was."

Roman didn't believe this was their plan all along. Even for the Authority, that was farfetched. They didn't know Seth would end up in a coma. How could they? They didn't contrive this scheme to basically force Seth to relinquish his title. But it was working out this way regardless, and knowing what bastards they were, Roman knew one thing for certain: it was favorable. " _Best for business_."

"Seth _will_ be awake by WrestleMania," Roman parried, licking his lips. "He _will_ defend his title, and he _will_ hang onto his championship."

"If he does, great. If not, Steph and I have no choice but to follow the rules."

Roman shifted his look to Steph. "But don't sit here and tell me that you had nothing to do with this. You at least _knew_ something was going to happen. Orton didn't randomly contact you out of the blue and say, 'Oh hey, by the way, I buried Seth in a fucking box and let him nearly asphyxiate.' Don't insult my intelligence like that."

Steph sighed, like being honest was such a burden. "After Raw, Sheamus told me he wanted the Shield gone. I told him whatever he did outside my consent or my company's was on him. He could do whatever the hell he felt like doing to you. I couldn't control it or condone it. I swear on my _life_. That is what happened before things resorted to _this_."

"Sounds like approval to me."

"Believe what you want, Reigns. But I had nothing to do with the specifics. Did I know he wanted to try something? Sure. But he did it on his own, with Randy. Neither of us were involved." She wagged a finger between her and Hunter.

"You could have warned us."

"It was none of my business on either side."

"Wow. Guess you're not a completely heartless shrew after all! Thank you for your concern, Steph! You're such a fucking saint." Roman huffed. "Get the hell out of here."

Steph sighed. "What's done is done. We see what happens from here."

"Ro, we can't let them screw over Seth like this," Dean said.

"Hey, look on the bright side," Triple H said. "If he doesn't make it, you won't have to fight over who gets to sleep with Roman in his bed every night."

Dean reached over Roman's shoulder and clocked Hunter in the jaw. With a snarl, Triple H knocked into Roman to reach Dean. He seized Dean by the shirt. Dean tried fighting back by hitting him in the face again. Though his head swiveled, Triple H held on. He threw Dean into the wall and lifted his knee into Dean's gut, then swung his fist into Dean's face.

Roman tackled Hunter to the ground. Straddling the old wrestler's body, his fists took turns delivering blows to Triple H's jawline.

Dean tried to help, but Stephanie grappled him from behind. She was freakishly strong for a woman her size. Dean squirmed in her grasp, but she had an arm around his throat. He struggled for breath, his feet failing beneath him. He gagged audibly.

Roman looked up and froze at the sight of Steph choking Dean out.

"Get off of him," Steph growled in an unfamiliar tone.

With a grunt, Roman shoved off Triple H. He stood up and brushed his suit off. Steph shoved Dean forward. Roman caught him before he stumbled to the floor, then towed him to his side.

"You good?" Roman asked.

"Fine."

"This is the way it's going to be, boys," Hunter said. "If Rollins isn't awake, if anything stops him from getting to WrestleMania and fighting Randy Orton, he will no longer be the champion."

Triple H and Steph spun and left the room, hand-in-hand.

Dean made two fists and kneeled to pound the ground. "Fuck!" he said. He darted to Seth's bedside and said, "Seth, buddy, you gotta wake up for us, man. The Authority is trying to bone you, big time. Come on. Please? For us?" His voice quivered. He took Seth's hand in his own. "For fuck's sake, Seth, wake up. You hear me in there, goddammit? _Wake up_!"


	14. Chapter 14

**Days Until WrestleMania: 13**

Dean hated missing work.

He hated being stuck in this hospital.

Hated the fact that Seth wasn't with them beyond physically.

The Authority.

Sheamus.

Randy Orton.

Hated all of them. All of it.

He could really go for that vacation about now.

Roman switched the TV to the USA Network. Raw was on in a few minutes. It was the second WWE program they'd be watching in Seth's room while he…what was the right word, slept? Rested? Dangled in an unknown realm between life and death? Smackdown had been boring. The secondary wrestlers fought against each other in useless matches, and WrestleMania was promoted. Nobody even seemed to notice the Shield's absence.

Raw was more crucial.

While the show's intro played, Dean stole a glance at Seth. Immobile. Insensible. Yet so tranquil. It wasn't fair. None of this was fair, for any of them. He wondered if Seth could here the program in there, wherever he was.

The Authority was the first to debut on the show. Roman and Dean booed and growled with the rest of the audience as Steph and Triple H made their way to the ring with Kane, J&J Security and Randy Orton. Steph held a microphone to her red lips and began, "Before tonight's show, there are a few things we need to clarify by the advisement of our legal department."

Roman leaned back in his chair while Dean leaned forward, cupping his chin in his hands.

"As of recently, your WWE Heavyweight Champion Seth Rollins is experiencing an undisclosed medical emergency."

"Fuck honesty," Dean said. "He's in a coma because of the new face of the Authority, Randy fucking Orton."

"Now, while I've been counseled not to go into specifics on the situation, I _am_ allowed to reveal that the WWE World Heavyweight Champion title match between Rollins and Randy Orton at WrestleMania is _still scheduled_. We _aren't_ scrapping the match. _However_ , if Seth Rollins fails to turn up at the event, for whatever reason, whether or not it pertains to his medical emergency, Randy Orton will automatically be the champion by disqualification."

Dean licked his lips. He really hoped Seth couldn't hear this now.

Or maybe it would help stir him awake.

The audience's unsystematic hoots and hollers fell into a pattern. "RANDY ORTON!" Five claps. "RANDY ORTON!" Five more claps.

Nobody wanted Seth to win.

Nobody wanted him to show up.

The world would have been absolutely delighted to witness Seth relinquishing his title, Orton taking over as the World Heavyweight Champion.

It aggravated Dean. What more did Seth have to do to earn respect back from the WWE Universe?

Steph handed her microphone to Orton. He had stitches, clear fresh ones, above his right eyebrow. He had to wait several moments for the congregation to quiet down before talking.

"When I look at Seth Rollins…I see three things. I see a weakling who can't stand up straight without someone's hand on his back and someone else holding his hand. A crippled, insecure, insufficient, scanty, _pitiful_ little ankle-biter. I see a cretin. A reckless, impetuous, dense little man who thinks he can charge across the street without looking both ways first because he thinks he's a lot stronger than all the cars. Good way to get yourself run over."

The audience was eating his words with sugar on top. Dean felt himself shaking. Orton smiled all throughout.

"And lastly, perhaps what I see most of all when I have the displeasure of taking Seth Rollins into full view: I see a louse. A lowlife scuzzball. A deplorable, despicable, _vile_ creature of nature, hardly passing as a human being. He's a traitor, a spineless little jellyfish, a craven _bastard_."

Holy shit, that word had been allowed to air.

"And come WrestleMania—if he bothers to show— " Orton looked directly into the camera, targeting Dean, Roman and especially Seth with his words, "I will break this child and everything he believes in. I will stomp this little cretin into the dirt. Drive this varmint back into the pungent, dripping cave from which he crawled!" He had to speak louder over the growing cheers and praise from the spectators. "Come WrestleMania, if this wretch isn't afraid of me, I will RKO him in record numbers! Seth Rollins will be no more, and the WWE will have a new champion! A worthy, righteous, decent, respectable, _deserving_ champion! And his name is Randy Orton!"

He dropped the microphone and lifted his hands towards the tumultuous audience, their boisterous acclamation.

Dean looked at Roman, angry tears welling from his eyes.

"Nothing he's not used to hearing," Roman tried, but it was evident he was just as irate about Orton's speech as Dean was.

"Can't fucking stand him," Dean groused. "Him _or_ Sheamus."

"Well, he'll get the surprise of his life when Seth wakes up and—"

"WAIT A MINUTE!" came the exhilarated voice of Michael Cole. "Who is that?"

A blurry figure was barreling down the walkway. He launched himself into the ring and tackled Randy Orton to the ground.

"Who _is_ that?" Roman wondered aloud as the cameramen scrambled to capture the action.

The announcers figured it out before he could. "It's Dolph Ziggler!" Cole shouted. "What's he doing jumping onto Orton like this?"

"Seems the champion Shield member has a fan!" JBL guessed.

Dolph punched Orton over and over and over again in the face, aiming specifically at his big mouth. And the Authority was just…letting him.

"Yeah!" Dean cheered. "Get him, Dolph!"

When Dolph was certain Orton wasn't coming up for a long while, he grabbed Orton's microphone and announced to the bewildered Universe, "You want this snake as your champion, guys!? You really think he's the big, hot hero he's making himself out to be!?" His bleach-blond locks shook drastically with every word, every motion. "Let me tell you something, Orton is a two-faced, conniving _dick_! He's the one who—"

Dolph's exposure was cut off when spontaneously, Sheamus sprinted into the ring from the sidelines and clipped Dolph in the face, then the gut, then the groin. One more strike to the throat sent Ziggler crumpling to the mat, his hands unsure which of his injured body parts to shelter from further attacks.

Sheamus leered at the cameras and took the microphone next.

"Roman Reigns. If you're watching this, you deserve to know what's coming. Your baby brother Rollins's arse belongs to Randy Orton. _Your_ arse belongs to Kevin Owens. As for your dearest, darling little Dean Ambrose?" Sheamus cut into his own segment with a devious little laugh. "Come WrestleMania, he's all mine."

Sheamus hawked a glob of spit onto Dolph's quaking body, then leaped off the mat and strode off on his own.

The Authority helped Orton up and followed him moments later.

The audience didn't know how to react. The announcers hadn't a clue what to say. The program simply went to commercial.

Dean sprung from the chair and ran his fingers over his head. "Dammit, Ro. What are we gonna do?"

Roman's response was delayed by several minutes.

"We go," he said at last, voice hoarse. He swallowed to stamp out the dryness in his throat. "We go. And we fight. We take what's ours, and we unleash _hell_ for everything that's happened."

"What about Seth?"

"He'll be awake by then."

"What if he's not?" Dean hated to ask it but hadn't a choice.

"If he can't make it…" Roman cast out a long breath. "Then we go without him. We fight on his behalf, for him."

"Leaving him here alone? Susceptible to attacks from anywhere?"

"We'll get security. We'll figure something out."

"I don't want to go to WrestleMania with a third of our team missing."

"Neither do I," Roman admitted, "but I really don't think Seth would have wanted us to bail. Give up on the chance for our own titles. Stay home, watch the match on a TV. If we don't show up, we don't represent, then we've failed him. We've failed each other. We can't let _anyone_ think the Shield is anything less than unbreakable."

 _God, Seth, can't you wake up for just thirty seconds and tell us what to do_?

Roman stood up. "You in, Dean?" He stretched an arm towards his partner.

Dean licked his lips. Nodded once. Stretched his own arm out, touched fists with Roman.

Then looked to Seth.

"You hear that, Seth? With or without you, we're going to WrestleMania. We're doing this for you." Dean cleared his throat, holding back tears. Now was not the time to cry. Now was the time to fight.


	15. Chapter 15, pt 1

**Hey guys! Here's part one of what ended up being a really long chapter.. I'll try to have the second part up later tonight, if not later today. Building up to quite the thrilling second half! We're so close to WrestleMania, and there's so much to do! :) Enjoy~**

* * *

 **Days Until WrestleMania: 10**

They had to go back at some point.

Missing WWE programs week after week wasn't exactly representing.

Roman had everything arranged. They'd fly to Oregon this morning, attend SmackDown at the Moda Center this evening, then drive back to the airport and get out of the city before anyone could track them. Roman wouldn't risk _anyone_ coming after them outside the ring. He'd defend Dean and himself and only stop if one of the bastards went so far as to kill him.

He'd also orchestrated a decent security system for Seth's hospital room, paying the hospital an imposing amount of money to keep Seth under strict supervision twenty-four hours a day, every day. Nobody was allowed in his room except for the two of them, if they made it back to visit.

Neither were sure exactly when that would be. But the attempt would be made to the strongest of their efforts.

Roman sat on Seth's bedside, listening to his machines. He tried to maintain zen, positivity, in case there was the slightest chance Seth could absorb it.

"You know," he said, "back when we were the original Shield? Those were some pretty amazing times. That said, though, I remember how much Dean and I fought. Do you? Damn, I think you and I got along better than he and I did back in the day. And you guys were definitely solid in your friendship. But me and him?" Roman chuckled softly, shaking his head, his twisted locks swaying. "I mean, we were brothers. We got along alright, and at the end of the day, we'd always be there for each other. But I remember the fights.

"And you, you were always the one to separate us whenever we lost our cool. You'd act like a parent, which might have been annoying at the time, but now I can see why you did it. You tried to conserve our strength whenever you felt it was necessary. You were the thinker, the logical one. You kept us together, kept us from tearing each other's throats out. Without you, I don't know how much longer we would have lasted." Roman laughed at the irony. "Then you went off and beat us half to death with a metal chair. Sold out to the Authority. But you know what the funny thing is? It was you betraying us that got Dean and I so close. Eventually, to where we are now. So if any good came from that at all, it was mine and Dean's love for each other. We were all we had once you left. So I guess I can thank you for that."

Seth didn't move.

"I'll never understand _why_ you did it, but I just want you to know that I forgive you." Roman swallowed. This was the hard part for whatever reason. "I might have hated what you did back then, to me, to Dean, but I never hated _you_. This is going to sound crazy, but I never lost faith in who I knew you were. Who I know you are now. You're a fighter. No matter what the circumstances are, you're always fighting. Whether it's your own family against you, or the powerhouses we call the Authority, or even the whole wide world when they cheer for Orton and completely shut you down. I always had faith, deep down, that you'd come back to us. And now you have." Roman touched a finger to his eye, erasing a tear. "And now that you have, I don't want to lose you. I can't. _We_ can't. Losing you was the hardest thing that's ever happened to us. Now that we have you back…dunno if we'd make it through another loss."

Roman gently pressed the back of his hand against Seth's cheek. His skin felt so normal. It was the weirdest thing. "So you've gotta come back, man. You've gotta. I don't hate you. And I forgive you for what you did. I love you, Seth. You're my little brother, you're my family. There's not a damn thing in the world I wouldn't do for you. And I'd give anything just to have you here with us."

Roman removed his hand.

Dean was lingering in the doorway.

"Hey," Roman said. "You call a cab?"

"Yeah. He said he'd be here in about ten."

Roman pushed off the bed slowly. "You want to say goodbye?"

"No. Goodbye's a shitty word. But I'd like a minute, if you don't mind."

"Not at all."

Roman left Dean alone with Seth.

Dean took Roman's place on the bed. "Seth, there was a time when I hated you. Remember that speech I made right after you turned on me and Roman? I said I wanted to move your nose under your ear, rip all your hair from your scalp, then shove it down your throat, and there wouldn't be anything in the way because all your teeth would be gone? I'm kind of sick." Dean laughed pitifully. "But forgetting that…I didn't think it was possible for me to love someone as much as I love you. The _way_ I do. You're so much more to me than a wrestling partner. You're my family. My best friend. My partner in crime. What was that term you used to describe us? Wrestling soulmates?"

Dean rubbed his hand over his mouth. "I fell for Roman big time. Roman is the one I'm meant to spend the rest of my life with. But I don't think you're going anywhere, and we sure as hell aren't going anywhere. So in a way, it's like I'm spending the rest of my life with you, too." He smirked at the thought forming in his mind. "If only you were in love with Roman. Then the three of us could be, y'know…all together." He shook his head, turning away his idea of a perfect world. "But that doesn't make you any less important to me. Remember what I said? I'd lose my mind if I didn't have you." He licked his lips, deciding to combat his sadness with anger and instability. "And the next time I see Randy Orton, I'm going to demolish him. I'm going to yank out his teeth one by one, then tear his arms off his body and break every one of his bones with them. I'd say I'd rip his hair from his scalp, but he's lacking in that particular area."

Dean took Seth's fingers in a gentle squeeze. "I don't really care what the WWE Universe thinks. You're always gonna be champion to me."

He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss on Seth's cheek.

Seth squeezed his fingers back.

The action startled him at first, like watching a zombie bust out of his grave. Once he gained control of a steady breathing pattern and his eyes settled back to their normal size, he said softly, "Holy shit. Seth? Seth, can you hear me?"

The rest of Seth's body was unmoving, and he didn't squeeze Dean's hand again.

But he wasn't so crazy that he'd chalk that up to his own deranged imagination. He'd _felt_ the compress.

That was a good sign, right?

"Hey, the cab's here." It was Roman.

Dean twisted his body to look at him, not letting go of Seth's hand. "Ro. He moved."

Roman's eyes bulged. His entire face alit. "Really?"

"Yeah. I felt him squeeze my hand."

"Oh!" Roman sat on the other side of the bed.

"That's good, right? What does it mean?"

"Can't say for sure. But I think he's on his way." Roman swept some hair from Seth's face.

"Fuck, I don't wanna leave now."

But several more minutes of waiting didn't bear further good news or miraculous signs.

"It's progress," Roman assured. "He's going to wake up soon."

Dean sighed. "Just not now."

"He will. Let's head out, okay? Can't miss our flight."

Dean nodded. He stood up and squeezed Seth's hand again, harder. "I love you," he whispered.

No squeeze back.

"Me too," Roman said, patting Seth's shoulder.

It hurt more than anything in the world to leave him.

* * *

 _It was cold._

 _"I'm so tired," Seth groaned aloud._

 _A hand on his shoulder._

 _"Let go," Dean urged. Just his voice in the darkness. His angel was hiding._

 _"N-no."_

 _"You're doing this to yourself." Dean sounded disappointed, which for some reason was always worse than anger. "You can end it all. Right here, right now."_

 _"No…"_

 _"You're the most egotistical person I've ever met."_

 _"Think you mean stubborn."_

 _"That too."_

 _Seth felt a soft pair of lips close to his own._

 _"Come on," he groaned. "One kiss?"_

 _"Nope. Never. Not from me."_

 _Seth grumbled nonexistent words under his breath._

 _"Let go," Dean incited._

 _It was hard saying no to him, no matter how ludicrous his request._

* * *

An hour before the show started, someone knocked on Steph McMahon's office door and entered before receiving permission to do so. Steph looked mystified to see Roman Reigns and Dean Ambrose shuffling in.

"Boys," she said, her voice a representative of her shock. "You actually showed up." It didn't take long for her to notice Seth's nonattendance. "Is Rollins still—"

"Still fighting for his life? Yes," Roman said. "Listen. Dean and I want a match tonight."

Steph wrinkled her nose. "We didn't schedule one for you. I thought you'd still be with Seth, hiding out until WrestleMania."

"Then move shit around. We want a match."

"Are either of you in any condition to fight?" She waved a pen towards Roman's back brace, which he wore over his gray "HIT HARD, HIT OFTEN" shirt.

Roman yanked at each of the velcro straps on the brace, then let it drop to his feet.

"Whoa, would you look at that?" Dean asked, putting his hands on his hips and nodding. "That must have taken a lot of work."

Steph glowered. "Fine. Against who?"

"You know damn well who."

She did know. "I can't give you a match against them."

Roman's nostrils flared. "Why not?"

"That's why," she said, now thrusting the pen towards his irate countenance. "Do you _all_ want to end up in the hospital before WrestleMania? Do you _all_ want to blow your chance at those titles? You'd kill each other if I stuck you all in the ring together. I told them to leave you alone, and I'll tell you now to stay away from them."

"Fine. But give us the first promo, at the very least."

"Think you owe us," Dean pointed out.

Steph's observation shifted to the paperwork on her desk. She dragged her pen from one paper to the next. Dean and Roman exchanged _what the hell is she doing_ glimpses.

"Okay, fine. You can have the first promo. There's a match tonight between Neville and Stardust. I'll see if we can push that back a little. Also, Ziggler and Wade Barrett. It was as close we could get to a promotion without Ambrose and Sheamus as we could."

"I want in on that," Dean said quickly. "Handicap match. Would Barrett be up for that?"

Stephanie scoffed. "That little shit's up for almost anything."

"Then it's settled."

"Ambrose, with all due respect, your condition is clearly not—"

Dean slammed a fist into her desk. "Fuck my condition! I'm here to fight while my brother Seth is trapped in a hospital bed. I owe it to him to keep going. I _owe_ him."

Steph did not agree nor disagree. She just looked to Roman.

"And what do you want? Anyone else you've got serious beef with?"

"What's Owens up to tonight?"

Steph peeked down at her schedule. "Actually, he's got a promo to talk about the championship match."

"I'd be happy to interrupt."

"That's really rude."

"Don't give me that shit."

"What the hell happened to you guys?" Stephanie questioned. "You used to be so…"

"Spineless?" Roman guessed.

"All talk and no bite?" Dean suggested.

"Careful," she revealed. "Cautious. Not so reckless, irrational. You can't think straight when Rollins isn't around."

"Seth's still the architect of our faction," Roman said. "The thinker."

"I know."

"Thanks for everything, Steph. We _really_ appreciate it." Dean spoke the words with heavy sarcasm, then knocked over a little Triple H action figure on her desk.

He and Roman made their way out.


	16. Chapter 15 pt 2

**Hey guys, I'm back. :) Sorry about the delay, but this chapter took longer than I thought. You won't be disappointed! Action and angst to come...brace yourselves...and enjoy.**

* * *

Roman ended his call and took a place next to Dean, waiting for their cue.

"Everything taken care of?" Dean inquired.

"Yeah. The nurse said she'd turn the TV on now. You think Seth'll really be able to hear it from…"

"Wherever he is," Dean said with a nod. "Yeah. I do. He deserves to know his family's looking out for him."

"Good."

The Shield's music played. Dean licked his lips. Roman cracked his neck.

"Let's do this."

Neither were smiling. Neither were aiming to wave to the crowd, trigger applause and hurrahs from the WWE Universe. They swaggered down the walkway and hopped into the ring with just enough charisma to indicate vital signs within them. Nothing more. It was very somber.

And everyone picked up on it quickly. Even the announcers.

Roman stood in the center with Dean at his side. After one more traded look, a subtle message— _let's do this_ —Dean lifted the microphone to his lips.

"We stand here today diminished, but not meager. Embers instead of a roaring fire, but not extinguished. Fractured…" His glare deepened, darkened to one Roman had only seen one or two terrifying times in his life. "But _never_. Broken." He began pacing. "We're here tonight after very long, very tiring circumstances involving our brother Seth Rollins, and two vile, disgusting, cowardly, dishonorable, _shameful_ individuals who have one, just one, advantage on Seth tonight: they get to be here in spite of everything that happened. And guys? You better count your lucky stars you have Mommy and Daddy pampering you back there. _Protecting you from the big bad bullies_ ," he voiced in a babyish tone. "You might have had the upper hand. You might have hurt us. You might have thought we were finished off completely. But guess what? In spite of Seth being in a _coma_ —" The audience, already quiet during Dean's oration, somehow hushed even further at the word Dean was certain he wasn't allowed to disclose, but felt the need to do so anyway. "He's got two warriors fighting for him. Hailing him on. Representing what he's part of, who he is. The Shield is the greatest thing to ever happen to this network. The Shield is untouchable!" The crowd began to rouse. "The Shield is unbreakable! THE SHIELD WILL CARRY ON LIKE A WAYWARD SON! THE SHIELD. IS. _EEEEEETERRRRNAAALLLLL_!"

Dean lowered the microphone and allowed applause, from those who just last week were condemning Seth and praising Orton, reverberate off the walls.

Roman took over next. "Enjoy your vacation from some serious ass-whooping, Sheamus, Orton. Come WrestleMania, we're going to _destroy_ you. You thought you could knock us down, but guess what? We got back up. Seth will be there, Dean will be there, and most unfortunately for you, _I_ will be there." He pressed a strong hand to his chest. "You _will_ pay for all the damage you've caused. Randy Orton will never be the WWE World Heavyweight Champion. Sheamus will never again hold up that Intercontinental Championship belt. And as for you, Kevin Owens, you better hold that U.S. title close like a pillow tonight. Because it's going to be mine soon enough. Unless…unless you feel like you're such a _man_ that you can defend it, right here, right now. Don't you show your screwy, ugly little face here tonight unless you want to take on my challenge. Don't come out here unless you want to prove to the world what a real champion looks like. If you can't, if you're too afraid of losing your precious championship before WrestleMania, I've got news for you: _you should be afraid_! The smartest thing you've ever done in your pitiful existence is fear Superman. But one way or another, that championship is mine, and you can believe that!" Roman threw the microphone onto the ground, approached the ropes and took the top one in a violent shake. "GET OUT HERE, OWENS!" he roared loud without the aid of the microphone.

Several moments passed, and Roman was certain Owens would be too afraid to face him. If that ended up being the case, perhaps it was alright. But he wanted to send a message. He wanted to fight. He needed to hit _something_. If it couldn't be Sheamus or Orton, it might as well have been his original adversary.

Kevin Owens's music played, but he was not alone. Sheamus and Randy Orton walked out with him.

They stood in a line, Sheamus in the middle, staring down the Shield members. Dean's fingers wiggled, ready to take the shape of a fist. If they weren't going to stay away, so be it.

Sheamus whispered something in Owens's ear. Owens nodded, then, with the U.S. title slung over his shoulder, approached the ring.

"I've gotta say, I gave you way too much credit, Reigns," he said. "I thought you'd be smart enough to steer clear of this place until our day at WrestleMania. But if you're really audacious enough to extend this challenge my way, so be it. We will have our match. I won't walk away until one of us is a winner, this I promise you. However. Your boy Ambrose there can't be in the ring with you. If he interferes, it will result in a disqualification, and I will _still_ be champion."

"We know the rules, asshole," Roman said. His profanity went unheard by everyone except Dean and Owens.

Owens lowered the microphone and smacked his lips. "Fine."

Sheamus and Randy didn't move. Just stood in place, hands clasped together in front of them, looking on. What were they up to? Couldn't they listen to Steph? Did they plan to interfere in the match? How would _that_ not result in a disqualification?

Roman couldn't focus on them. Clearly the fight was on. He took his corner in the ring. Dean patted his shoulder, then hopped out. He wasn't going to cost Roman this match.

"The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and for the United States Championship!" Lillian proclaimed. "The challenger—"

They didn't give her time to finish. When Owens rushed towards Roman, Roman met him in the middle and swung his fist at Owens. Owens ducked, twisting so his back would bounce off the ropes. He stormed Roman again, sticking his arms out and taking Roman in a hold off his feet. While Roman knocked Owens's head repeatedly, Owens wouldn't let go. He plowed Roman backwards, spearing his back into the post. He pinned Roman there and struck him again and again in the gut. Roman managed to slip out of the pin and jumped up, kicking Owens in the head. Owens was dazed. Roman backed away from him, swishing his hair from his face to behind his shoulders.

"My boy!" Dean hollered, clapping.

Randy Orton and Sheamus were _still_ watching from the front of the arena. What the hell were they doing? Just staring like creepers? Sheamus was _grinning_. What was that about?

Owens grabbed Roman from behind and performed a suplex. Roman hit the mat behind Owens, landing on his back. His original injury, the fractured lumbar the brace was intended to protect, revived itself in a fresh pain. Owens grabbed Roman by the legs and flipped him over so the Samoan was on his stomach. He kicked Roman once, twice, three times in the back, exactly where the injury was. Roman cried out aggressively. After the fourth kick, Owens pressed his huge foot into Roman's injured area. Targeting where it hurt specifically, as though Owens knew of Roman's injury.

As if he knew…

Had Owens somehow figured out about the contusion?

Or had someone told him…

Whatever the case, Roman was in hell. His back screamed, the bone flattening under Owens's force, the sensitive spot scorching as badly as his skin had that day he saved Dean from the fire.

Dean meanwhile, originally pacing the floor in front of the ring, now thumped the mat incessantly with his fist. "Get up, Ro," he said. "Get up and fight, Roman!"

Roman tried to move. Major mistake. Owens lifted his foot, for a moment, so he could jump into the air and land on Roman, his situated, pointed elbow plunging into Roman's back. Roman's body flailed and thrashed. His face was contorted. His back was practically disabled.

Dean clenched his scalp, his hair, as his eyes bulged from the sockets. "Get up, Ro! _Get up_!"

" _Get up, get up, Ro_ ," Owens mocked in Roman's ear. "He's a cutie. I see why you keep him around. Dainty little cheerleader." Owens heaved the muscled Samoan into his beefy arms and brought him down again, driving his knee into Roman's back.

There was a crack. Roman screamed.

Owens let him roll back onto the mat. The writhing had stopped. Roman lay on his stomach, his arms upholding him in a slight elevation, a planking position. He buried his face into the mat so nobody, especially Dean, could tell how much he was suffering.

Dean had scrambled onto the apron, clenching the top rope, shaking it back and forth. Owens raised a warning hand towards him. "Stay out of this, Ambrose! Or he'll have done all of this for nothing."

"You're a fucking monster, Owens!"

"Call off your dog, Reigns," Owens said, kneeling beside Roman to hiss into his ear. "His yapping is irritating me."

Roman's only movement was rough trembling.

"ROMAN!" Dean hollered. How badly he wanted to vault these ropes. Punch Kevin Owens so hard that his nose flew off his face. Break his back in more places than one. But it wasn't up to him. He couldn't interfere. Owens was right. If Roman went through all this, just to lose by DQ, it would have been the worst defeat of his life.

He had to do it on his own.

"This is for Seth, remember? YOU'RE DOING THIS FOR SETH!"

"I said to stay out of this, Ambrose!" Owens dashed to the ringside and shoved Dean off the apron with both hands. The force knocked him far back, his head dangerously close to smacking the announcer's table.

Roman looked up. Dean was gone. Walking away from where he'd been standing was Owens, who was now returning to finish Roman off.

 _Nobody messes with my family, how many times do I have to tell them that_!?

Roman cried out wildly. _For Seth and Dean_!

He speared Kevin Owens's knees, driving him to the ground. He pivoted Owens's knee until Owens was shouting out, _finally_ , in some pain of his own. Owens tried to sit up, but Roman rolled back onto him, Owens's right leg still under his control. Owens attempted to use his other leg to kick Roman, but Roman pinned that leg underneath his own, trapping it. He locked his arm under the leg and pulled upwards, twisting the ligament in a way ligaments are not supposed to twist naturally. Roman pulled and pulled and hollered with another pull, waiting for the snap. His leg was nearly at a complete 180 angle.

But Owens knocked Roman in the head with a mighty fist. Roman finally released him and rolled off. It gave Owens enough time to recover a bit of his strength as Roman strived to recuperate from the unexpected blow.

Owens was still up first, naturally. He barreled towards Roman, who was also in the process of staggering to his feet. Roman moved out of the way just in time, and Owens's upper half went through the ropes, his head striking the post. Roman took hold of both Owens's feet and drew him away from the ropes, which he could cling to for protection. He pulled Owens's legs apart, sat in the space between them, wrapped his arms around Owens's legs, tucking them underneath his brawny arms, and leaned back, pulling them both with the lean. It was a painful position for both Roman and Owens, as Roman was putting pressure on his weak spot. But with screams and shouts and hollers he battled the pain. He temporarily released his hold on Owens's left leg to deliver blow after blow into his damaged right knee, then reclaimed his hold and pulled back, further, harder. He drove them further apart from each other, pinning Owens in a reverse butterfly. _Just a little longer and his fucking leg will fucking snap_ —

Roman could scarcely hear Owens's hand pounding against the mat over his own cries.

He'd tapped out.

Roman was the victor.

Instead of celebrating, Roman released Owens and rolled back onto his belly, wishing he could fall asleep for days. The stadium quaked with cheers and yells. Dean's were especially the loudest. Everyone else was like an obnoxious ringing. Dean's voice was sweet music.

Dean finally gained permission to hop into the ring. He dropped to his knees beside Roman and said, "You did it, man! You're the champion!"

Roman couldn't speak. Inside he was relieved, but pain overpowered any sense of victory he could muster.

"Ro? Hey, you with me?"

Roman attempted to lift a thumbs-up.

"Is it broken?"

 _I think so_. He wasn't sure if he'd said it aloud or to himself, or if the words had even left his lips. His ears were ringing badly now. His vision was failing him. All he could see, eyes opened _or_ closed, was a bright white light.

"Roman!"

He felt drunk. He wasn't aware of the medics in the ring, helping him onto a stretcher. A distant voice said something about a checkup in the back. Was an ambulance necessary? We'll find out. Is it broken? I think it's broken. They were all loud, so loud. _Just shut up_.

"Dean." That, he'd definitely said aloud.

He couldn't see Dean, but he could hear him among the commotion. "I'm here, Ro. You're gonna be fine. Dude, you won the fucking title with a broken back. How badass are you?"

Roman raised his hand, waving it, on a search. He felt a familiar hold. Secure, warm, safe. Roman smiled.

"I love you, Dean."

"I love you too, Roman. Hold tight. They're gonna fix you up. Just hold on…"

* * *

Roman opened his eyes. Blinked. His surroundings were unfamiliar. He tried to sit up. Couldn't without it hurting so much. He felt trapped.

He blinked again. Now it was clear where he was. Back in the fucking hospital. Home away from home, he figured. The closest thing to _home_ he had, naturally, was the ring.

Dean was standing beside him, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were drooping. Looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"Hey, good morning, sunshine. Afternoon, I should say."

"Is the show over?" Roman groaned.

"The show?"

"Yeah. Your match is coming up, right?"

"Roman, it's Saturday."

The fact startled Roman into further awareness. " _Saturday_?"

"Yeah."

"I don't get it. We were _just_ at SmackDown. I was being put on a stretcher…not _thirty seconds_ ago."

Dean pursed his lips in a grin, as if he was fully aware of Roman's ignorance but accepting of it regardless. "You've been in and out of it for two days now. They had to perform surgery to fix you up. Your backbone was shattered."

Roman groaned. Just thinking about it made the area twinge a little. He was plugged into morphine, though, so he couldn't feel much but a false sense of healthy. "What happened?"

"You won, dude. You're the United States champion. Don't know how the hell you pulled that off, but you did. Made him submit. Title's yours."

"Awesome." Roman closed his eyes, his mouth stretching into a yawn. How was he still so tired after losing two days to delirium? Hadn't he gotten any sleep? More importantly, had Dean? "Guess I'm in the same boat as Seth, though."

"What do you mean?"

"If I can't fight to retain my title at WrestleMania in…" He was too tired to do the math. "However many days, then my reign will probably be the shortest one in WWE history. I'll have to forfeit."

"That would blow."

"Unless by some incredible feat, I heal up in a week and get back into the ring."

Dean sighed. "That's probably not gonna happen, Ro."

"What do you mean? If I heard you right, I made Kevin Owens _submit_ with a _broken back_."

"You did. And now you're recovering from a six-hour surgery, Ro. Let's face the facts, okay? This isn't going to happen for any of us."

"Dean. Don't talk like that."

"Look at you! You're confined to a bed! You can't even pee without someone's help! You really think in eight days, you'll be in any condition to fight? Not just to fight, but win? It's not happening, Roman, and I'm sorry, but realistically? No. It's not."

Roman was incredulous. "What happened to your energy? Your confidence in this team?"

Dean was clearly struggling to hold onto sanity. "I can't do it anymore, Roman. Seth's in a coma. You're in the hospital too after breaking your fucking back. And I would rather it have been me in there, breaking over you instead of the other way around, but that's not how it worked out. It's hard to stay positive when reality is looking me right in the face and saying, 'It's over. You lost. You _lost_.' I'm broken, Roman. Steph, Sheamus, Orton, they really fucking did it. They broke Seth, they broke you—"

"They didn't break you," Roman insisted. "No, no they _didn't_. What were we just saying on SmackDown? What were you just declaring to the entire Universe, our enemies included? Diminished but not meager. Embers instead of a fire, but not extinguished. Fractured but never broken!"

"I can't be the Shield by myself, Ro."

"I'm not letting you give up. You've still got a match at WrestleMania. Fight it. Win it. For us. You have to, Dean."

"Roman, I'm sorry. I wanted to be strong, but right now…" Dean blinked away unmistakeable tears. "I'm not in my right mind. My heart is broken. I'm tired. Got no energy left. I've lost all my confidence. Not in the team, but in me."

"Don't say that. Don't let them win."

"It's not about winning anymore, Roman. It's about keeping ourselves together. Right now, it's not happening. We're apart. We're not together. As of now, it's just…not…happening."

This was discouragement talking. Roman knew for an absolute fact Dean didn't feel this way. His faith wasn't gone; buried, perhaps, under a pile of rubble. All it would take to save it was some digging.

"I'm gonna go get some water, okay? Take a walk or something."

"Okay," Roman said, feeling crushed. "Look out for yourself, okay? You've gotta keep up your health for the Fatal 4 Way."

"Okay, Ro."

Dean left, and Roman let himself fall into a disquieted slumber. His own heart was breaking, witnessing Dean fall apart like that.

 _What are we gonna do_?

* * *

 ***sigh* It hurt me just to write that. Steph's earlier predictions have been applied.. The brain is incapacitated, the brawn is broken and the heart is splintered. How will our boys recover from perhaps the lowest, hardest blow of their careers? Stay tuned for the next chapter~ As always, reviews and ratings are highly appreciated!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Welcome, my dears, to chapter sixteen, where Dean Ambrose has lost his mind completely and resorts to shocking, complicated actions to fulfill his new plans for protecting his family and himself. The writing is shorter and choppy for that reason. I promise I'm not trying to rush anything, nor am I losing my touch with descriptive chapters. It's like this intentionally. ;) Enjoy~**

* * *

He was sick and it was spreading.

But he would not let the sickness deplete him, render him useless. He would use it as a stimulant, motivation, fuel to the fire raging within him. It would fortify him, physically and mentally, rather than enervate him.

He hated leaving Roman. Hopping onto another plane, traveling to another state. It hurt more than anything. The loneliness reinforced the sickness, but the sickness reinforced him.

"I'll be strong," he told Roman. How Roman had believed him was a wonder. "I'll be alright. I'll fight like normal."

But he had no plans to fight.

Negotiate, maybe. But not fight.

He wasn't going to be anyone's victim tonight.

Dean Ambrose sat outside the Spokane Veterans Memorial Arena, sharpening a pocketknife with a rock. He hadn't attended Raw this evening. There were no matches for him. He'd phoned the producers to fill them in on his and Roman's absences for the evening.

He fancied the element of surprise.

Dean couldn't rush in and execute his plan from the inside. Too many things could go wrong. Witnesses, backup plans, ambushes. He needed an advantage. Surprise was one of them, one he wouldn't waste. He had to work on his own grounds. His turf, his rules, his control.

She walked out alone. Good. Nobody to protect her. Hubby must have still been inside. Dean waited until she was near her car, then made his move. Stalked in the darkness like a shadow she didn't realize she had. Approached her from behind quick and quiet.

Wrapped an arm around her throat. Threw his hand over her mouth before she could scream. Pressed the tip of his pocketknife against her jugular and gnarled, "We need to talk."

* * *

He'd knocked her out in the car.

Carried her into the hotel through a side door. If anyone asked—and nobody did—she was his wife and passed out drunk. I'll get her straight to bed. Don't even worry. I'll take good care of her.

Situated her in a chair.

Bound her hands behind her back with zip ties.

And waited for her to wake up.

Stephanie McMahon groaned upon awakening. Her fatigued, slow arousal dashed to panic when she found she couldn't move. Dean sat in a backwards chair in front of her, still bearing his pocketknife.

"Ambrose?" she tried, which came out as " _Mmmm-brmmmm_ ", considering he'd gagged her with a sock in the mouth and tape tightly pressed over the sock. He'd prepared for this when arriving in the city. Buying the items necessary for her complete restraint at separate stores so nobody could raise an alarm.

"We tried to warn you," Dean said. He didn't recognize his own voice. "Tried to protect you, even, by _advising_ you out of the kindness of our hearts to back. The fuck. Off. But did you listen? No!" he sang, laughing. He rose from his chair and circled around Steph. The color had drained from her face. "You didn't wanna listen, and now…now it's come to this."

She tried mumbling, protesting, begging, something through that gag, but Dean didn't care what she had to say. She was only leverage. She couldn't change her circumstances to save her life. _Ha ha ha_.

"May I borrow your phone?" Dean asked.

Dean upheld her iPhone, and her eyes bulged. " _Mmmph_!"

"Compelling argument."

Dean scrolled through the contacts until he found his true target. He put a finger to his lips playfully as the call rang. And rang. And rang.

"Hey, baby, where'd you run off to?"

" _Hi, sweetie_!" Dean answered in a shrill voice. " _It's me, Stephanie, your wife_!"

A pause. "What?"

" _I got into some trouble tonight! Could you maybe help me out?"_

"The hell's going on? Who is this?"

" _Remember how we've been condoning unjust behavior towards the Shield lately? Sitting back and letting our little children destroy their lives? Maybe we shouldn't have done that_!"

"Who the hell is this? Where's Stephanie?"

Dean's voice returned to normal. "We need to talk, Helmsley."

Long pause. "Ambrose?"

"I'll cut to the chase, partner. I have your beautiful wife in my hotel room right now. You want her back in one piece? Meet me at my hotel room. Swear to Jesus if you call the cops or bring a friend, I'll cut her fucking throat. Don't wanna have to do that, Hunter my boy. All's I wanna do is talk. Can we do that for Steph here?"

He didn't sigh, but Dean heard the defeat in his voice. The fear. "Where are you?"

* * *

Triple H made the trip in record time. The hotel wasn't close to the stadium, yet he'd gotten here in minutes. Dean guessed he hadn't brought anyone along. Not enough time to fill them in, considering he'd sped. Wise choice.

Hunter knocked on the door. Dean peeked out the door to make sure it was him and he was alone. Sure enough.

Dean let Hunter inside. Did a quick check behind him. Then ushered him inside.

He upheld his knife like a sword.

Hunter raised his hands to let Dean know he'd cooperate.

He'd dragged Steph's chair towards the small table. Set a place for Hunter on the other side. "Sit," he ordered.

Hunter sat. Steph had tears in her eyes. Dean ziptied his hands as well. "It's gonna be okay, honey," Hunter said. "I promise."

Steph nodded, wanting so badly to believe him.

"Sure it will!" Dean howled. "Just do what I ask of you, and the two of you are free to go. I'm assuming you won't be going to the police about this, considering I've got Orton and Sheamus both pinned with kidnapping and attempted murder? And conspiracy on both of you? Hmm?"

Hunter sighed. He knew the stakes now. He'd listen.

"I have a very small list of demands. It's one item, really. Well, two."

"What do you want?" Hunter asked, voice gruff.

"Firstly. If Seth Rollins cannot attend WrestleMania due to the fact that he's in a fucking coma, then Dean Ambrose will take his place to defend his WWE World Heavyweight Championship title against Randy Orton."

Hunter was incredulous. "You seriously—"

"And secondly!" Dean screamed, pointing his knife at Hunter for interrupting him. His eyes were wide and white. He circled around the table in a dramatic walk as he talked. "Secondly, if Roman Reigns cannot attend WrestleMania due to the fact that he's recovering from back surgery, then Dean Ambrose will take his place to defend his United States championship against Kevin Owens. Any questions?"

Hunter sighed. "You're a sick bastard, Ambrose."

"Lunatic!" Dean said as though Hunter was the biggest fool in the world for making such a statement. "Now," he said, referring to a piece of paper in the center of the table. "I took the liberty of typing up these demands. You guys have a real hard-on for doing things all _business-like_. It might not be on your official paper with the official company logo, but all I need are your signatures, and that should pass."

Hunter licked his lips. "If you wanted the fucking matches, Ambrose, we would have—"

"Don't lie to me!" Dean screamed deep from his lungs. "You were so _eager_ to let Randy just gain himself the belt by disqualification! Best for business, my ass. You didn't think Seth was going to show up, but you couldn't cancel the match because that would ruin WrestleMania. I know how you assholes think! You would have let my brothers lose _unfairly_ and _unjustly_ all for the sake of ' _company policy_ '. Well, fuck policy. Here comes a new one. Sign it or I slit her fucking throat."

Hunter looked lost. But willing to cooperate.

Dean untied his hands long enough for him to sign his typed-up demands, which stated everything he'd just told them, word-for-word. He didn't need Steph's signature. Triple H's was more than enough.

"Oh, thank you, thank you," Dean said. "Boy, oh boy, I can't wait."

Hunter lunged at Dean.

He managed to tackle the Lunatic Fringe to the ground, but Dean wouldn't let go of his knife. He slashed the blade across Hunter's face. That was enough to get him off.

Steph screamed.

"Bad boy!" Dean yelled. He pierced Hunter in the shoulder with the knife. Triple H fell to the ground, writhing. Dean extracted the blade from Hunter's skin and stood up.

"Even after all this, Hunter, you never managed to learn how to listen."

Dean grabbed an empty coffee pot off the sink counter and smashed Hunter's head in. The blow knocked him out cold.

He took the fragmented coffee pot to Steph next, who was begging and pleading for mercy.

"Don't worry, Stephanie, baby girl. When you wake up, it'll have just felt like a bad dream."

 _Whack_.


	18. Chapter 18

**Hey guys! Guess what? This is the LAST CHAPTER BEFORE WRESTLEMANIA! I can't believe we're almost there, and we've got so much coming up, both before and during the show! I stayed up extra late to bring y'all this chapter. It's pretty wonderful, if I do say so myself. ;) You do NOT wanna miss it!**

 **Also, great news: I'm off for the next four days (hoping, as long as my coworkers don't all wander off and get lost in the desert or something), so I promise quicker updates for this story as well as "More Than Words." We're getting down to the nitty gritty and I am PUMPED! Enjoy this chapter, and stay tuned for the next!**

* * *

 _You'll probably hate me forever, Ambrose._

 _But this is what needs to happen._

 _Seth forced a step back away from Dean. "I'm letting go."_

 _"Finally." Dean reached a tempting hand towards Seth._

 _"No. You don't understand." Seth licked his lips. They were dry, so cracked he might have been able to taste blood if he smiled or frowned too wildly. "I'm not letting go of life. I'm letting go of you."_

 _There it was again, that disappointment that tore Seth apart. "Of me?" Dean folded his arms over his chest._

 _"Dean, I love you more than I thought I could ever love anybody. That means saying no if I have to, even if I don't want to. That means sacrificing my selfish ways for your happiness. And that means…" He bit his lip. The taste of blood was quick and apparent. "That means letting go so that you can spend the rest of your life with Roman. The way you're supposed to. The way you're meant to."_

 _"So you're leaving._ Again _."_

 _"Nope. I made a promise. You're my boys, you_ and _Roman. I will never leave or forsake you. I will never betray my family again. I'm a Shield member until something plucks me off the earth and takes me home. But that time's not today. Today, I live. Today, I let go."_

 _Dean knew Seth's weakness. He widened those precious baby blues. "Seth, please…"_

 _"Goddammit, Dean, enough. I've had it. I want to go home. I want my family back. It's over, you hear me? It's over. I'm done."_

 _Dean stared at him for hours._

 _Then disappeared into the abyss._

 _Seth became aware of his steady heartbeat._

 _The light was gone._

* * *

He opened his eyes.

A beeping monitor filled the quiet room. Seth felt rested. He didn't want to move too quickly. He was in the hospital; _something_ must have happened to him. It literally hurt his head trying to think about it, think of anything that had happened in the past…

What the hell day was it?

 _Oh shit_ , he thought, the pain inevitably returning as a memory formed of WrestleMania. _What day is it_?

Seth strained to reach the Call button.

A nurse rushed into his room as soon as he pushed it with his thumb.

"Hello, Mr. Rollins!" she greeted warmly. She was armed with a clipboard and a pen. "How are you, honey?"

He tried to form a question. Opened his mouth to speak, but words failed him. _Come on, it ain't that hard._

"W—wh—"

The nurse lowered herself onto the bed. "Take it easy," she urged with sweetness. "You're at Hillcrest Medical. You've been in a coma for the past couple of weeks."

 _A coma? Well, fuck_. "What day is it?" he managed at last. It came out like drunken rambling.

"Pardon?"

Seth cleared his throat. The nurse fetched him a cup of water from the sink. After a slow, long drink, he cleared his throat again and asked, "What day is it?"

"It's April first."

 _Nice. Waking up from a coma on April Fool's Day_.

WrestleMania was the next day, he realized.

Seth moved his greasy hair from his eyes. It felt disgusting. He wanted a shower. He wanted a hot meal. But most of all, he wanted his family.

"Do you know where my brothers are?" he asked. "One's a huge guy, long black hair, tattoo on his arm? The other's a blondie with blue eyes, tall, muscles?"

The nurse pressed her lips into a smile. "Roman Reigns and Dean Ambrose?"

"That's them," Seth confirmed.

"I'm afraid they aren't here anymore. But they assigned security to this room to see to your protection."

"Protection?"

A memory struck him like lightning, gone as fast as it had come and painful. Randy Orton. He was the last person Seth saw before…the box…the dirt…coughing and spurting and struggling to suck in one, just _one_ , sweet breath of air. Seth rubbed his temples and banished the thought. The nurse lay a comforting hand on his knee.

"Right. I understand." Seth craned his neck. It felt so strange, so wonderful, to move like this. "Do you know where my phone is, by chance? I need to make a couple of calls."

She kept smiling. What a kind heart. "Whatever you need. I'm just so glad you're okay."

"Me too, ma'am. Me too."

* * *

"This is the last call I'll ever make from this phone. I'm going to destroy it once I hang up with you."

Roman switched ears, pressing his phone to the right now instead of the left. He'd spoken to Dean several times since he all but bailed on Roman, and those words weren't very comforting. "How come?"

"Don't wanna be found. Don't wanna run the risk of being traced. They might be after me pretty hard at this point."

Roman shoveled a spoonful of applesauce into his mouth. He'd be relieved the day his meals didn't consist of applesauce every time he ate. "Who's they? Our they?" he asked before swallowing.

"Mommy and Daddy."

"Ah." That was their codename for Stephanie and Triple H. "Why, what happened?"

He heard Dean exhale. "Let's just say I had a nice little chat with 'em."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Guess what, Ro? I'm taking both yours and Seth's matches. Defending Seth's title _and_ yours."

Roman froze, another spoonful of applesauce inches from his ready mouth. "What?"

"Yep. Worked out a deal with them. I get _three_ matches tomorrow, dude, _three_. Ain't that gonna be a fun ride?"

"Dean, are you sure about this?"

"'Course I'm sure. I'm done with letting them take advantage of us, Roman. I'm done playing victim. I ain't gonna be anybody's bitch. I'm gonna be the warden this time, my friend. All hail Dean Ambrose. Court's now in session."

"Just look after yourself, okay? You roll in there alone, and our adversaries might take full advantage."

"I'm counting on it, Roman. But I'm doing this for you. Don't you worry."

Of course he was going to worry. But Roman was proud of Dean for stepping up and taking charge—as precarious as that charge was—instead of giving up on everything completely in a time of repeated drawbacks. Dean seemed like he was back to normal, and Roman could attest that a normal Dean was a mental human being.

"Okay."

"I've gotta go, Roman. Call me paranoid, but I don't want 'em tracking me at this very second. Oh, but before I do, answer me something: is your nurse cute?"

Roman chuckled. "Um, yeah? I guess so."

"Great. Flirt with her a little bit, would ya? Work up a little charm. See if she can find a way to get the pay-per-view to play in your room. I don't want you to miss it on _any_ levels."

"I can do that, Dean. Of course."

"Great, Ro. I can't way to see you again."

"Me neither. I love you."

"Love you too, babe. Catch ya."

Roman ended the call, finished off the last bite of food, then pushed himself from the bed. He set to work on his early afternoon workout: pushups on the floor, followed by pull-ups on the frame of the bathroom door. He could only perform a few at a time of each exercise before the pain and fatigue kicked back in. But each day was a small improvement. Progress was progress no matter how slight. The nurses didn't advise such activity, but nobody had stopped him so far.

Later in the afternoon, after lunch and during his second attempt at exercise, his phone buzzed again. He figured it was Dean, calling from a payphone (if those even existed anymore) to check in. Roman appreciated each report, especially so far away from him.

But Seth's number was on the screen.

Roman gulped back a snarl. If this were a medical issue or news spread, good or bad, the hospital would be calling him from their own number. But this was clearly more personal, more pivotal. Who the hell had access to Seth's phone? Had someone gained unauthorized entry into his room? Was he in danger yet again?

He answered, "Hell—o?"

"Hey, Roman."

Roman's heart nearly collapsed in on itself. "Seth?"

"Yeah. Surprise, surprise. Guess who's finally come around?"

The bombshell of a phone call was so phenomenal that it made Roman's head dizzy. He moved to his bed and dropped onto the scratchy blanket before he passed out. " _Damn_ , it's good to hear your voice." Roman laughed, tears of bliss prickling in the corners of his eyes.

"Yours too, bro. Are you with Dean right now? He didn't answer his phone."

"Uh, actually…no, I'm not." Seth had a lot to catch up on, but Roman would spare him the innumerable details. "He's on his way to WrestleMania."

"Alone?"

"Yeah. I'm in the hospital."

"Damn, for real? What happened to you guys?"

"A lot. Too much." Roman felt he couldn't stand still anymore. He moved off the bed, across the room, peeking out the window. The day felt beautiful now, in spite of clouds and humidity. "Where are you?"

"Still at the hospital. They wanted to keep me overnight, I'm like hell no. They're like well we wanna run some tests and make sure you're okay, and I'm like _fine_ , but I _have_ to leave tonight if I wanna make WrestleMania on time."

"You're going to WrestleMania?"

"You bet your ass I'm going to WrestleMania!" He spoke the point as though Roman was crazy for believing anything otherwise. "I have a title to defend, son."

Roman wandered in circles around the room. "Triple H and Steph told us if you didn't show up for your match against Orton, you'd lose your title and Orton would automatically be champion. Same deal went for me and my match, I guess. But Dean said something earlier about fighting our matches _for_ us. Guess he made some sorta deal with them about fighting in our place."

"Wait, wait, wait. He said he'd take on _both_ our matches, on _top_ of the Fatal 4-Way?"

"Yeah. Three matches in a night. Feasible, but objectionable, obviously."

"Well, that's real nice of our Ambrose, but it's not happening. I'll be there. I'll fight my own damn match."

It was apparent Seth wasn't one-hundred percent himself yet. Some tests would do him good. A bit more rest, ignoring the fact he'd been checked out physically and mentally for weeks now. "You sure?"

"Sure, I'm sure. I'm almost right as rain, Roman Reigns. _Ha_ , I'm so lame. Ha, and all that rhymed, too! In another life, maybe I'd be a comedian."

Nope, he sure hadn't returned to a full mental state quite yet. "Listen to the docs, okay, Seth? If they say stay, you stay. Don't leave until you've gotten their permission. It would be stupid of you to run into a match when you're not all there, all better. You know you can't win if you're still even a _little_ conked out."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I gotcha. Just can't wait to leave this place. Feel like I've been here forever."

Roman chuckled. He returned to his bed. "I sure missed you, Seth."

"I feel like if I'd been aware of my situation, I woulda missed you, too. So what happened to you, then? Why are _you_ in the hospital?"

Roman went over the reckless but adrenalized decision to challenge Kevin Owens with a back injury. How the plump bastard had broken him to near destruction, yet Roman had still managed to win and obtain the U.S. Championship.

"Damn, Roman. Congrats. I feel bad that you broke your back and all, but _mad_ respect. That's really cool."

"Did it for you."

"I'm touched, really. But are you gonna make it to WrestleMania?"

"I'm gonna try. I'm making myself work out, try to get my back functioning again. It's not easy, but nothing that's worth doing is ever easy, is it?"

"I don't know, man, I'm more than ready to knock Randy Orton's skull right off his shoulders, and that might be simple. Knowing how pumped I am."

"Just be cautious."

"Promise."

"And Seth?"

"Yeah?"

Roman felt his heart slamming. It hadn't slowed down once since he heard Seth's voice. What a relief it was. How exhilarated it made him feel. "I'm glad you're back. Also, I love the hell out of you, little bro. I know I don't say it enough, but believe it."

"I love you too, Roman. I'm sorry things haven't been better between us in the past. If ever."

"That'll change. I promise."

"Yeah. You could say being in a coma really kicks your stubborn ass into perspective."

"I have to know. Do you remember anything at all? Do you remember hearing Dean or me talk to you?"

"It really hurts to try to think about it. Maybe it'll come back as my brain resharpens. Right now, though, naw, nothing really comes to mind. I'm still trying to take reality in at a steady pace. Nurse's orders."

"Good boy."

Seth cackled. "Good luck getting to WrestleMania, Roman. I'll see you again real soon, though, one way or another."

"You've got it, Rollins. Take care. See you soon." _Real soon. I promise._


	19. Chapter 19 - WrestleMania, pt 1

**I'm super, super sorry about the delay in this update. Lot of work issues came up. Gotta love it. :P Anyway, here is the first chapter of WrestleMania! We're here, we made it, you guys! Dean Ambrose is prepared to take on the greatest challenge(s) of his life as he prepares for three matches for three separate titles. Can our hero do it? And who will be there with him? Let's find out...**

* * *

High of eighty-three degrees.

A beaming sun alone in a brilliant sky.

The stadium was overpacked.

Tickets had been sold out months in advance.

Everybody was ready for this: the WWE Universe, the wrestlers, even the announcers.

And especially Dean Ambrose.

WrestleMania, dubbed "springtime's biggest event worldwide", kicked off with a basic match between R-Truth and the Miz. Dean's first match, the Fatal 4-Way, followed immediately after. He watched this insipid brawl between the A-Lister and King What's Up from a metal chair propped up near the announcers' table. He'd been hiding out for days now, making no appearances on Raw or SmackDown and not speaking to anybody involved in today's extravaganza. Now, however, he refused to hide. He wanted everyone here to know of his presence. Nobody dared to attack or ambush him in front of millions of witnesses, not on the biggest day of the season.

At the moment he was wearing his standard wrestling outfit: a sleeveless black "DEAN UNSTABLE AMBROSE" shirt and blue jeans with his black shoes. He planned to change later. He'd go all out representing the Shield today.

"Hey, Ambrose."

It was Dolph. He was dragging a chair up beside Dean's. Dean wasn't one for socialization right before the match, especially on a day so crucial to his career as this one, but he owed a lot to Dolph Ziggler.

"What's up, buddy?"

"I wanted to tell you something. During the Fatal 4-Way, I'm gonna fall right off the bat and let you pin me for the win. Alright?"

Dean chuckled. "Thanks, bro, but I wanna win with honor. It wouldn't mean much if you _let_ me win."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, I respect that, kid." Dolph rubbed his knee, the manner cordial. "But just so you know, you're not losing today by my account."

"I appreciate it." Dean had no real reason to go after Dolph during the match, either, considering any factors outside their developing friendship and how much Dean felt he was indebted to Dolph. Even if he did, Sheamus was going to be a much bigger threat—and a much bigger target.

"Roman and Seth are going to be damn proud of you today."

Dean nodded, lips pressed together. He missed both of them so much.

R-Truth hit Miz with a leaping reverse STO for the win.

Dean pushed a breath through his teeth. Felt suffused in command. It was time.

King Barrett made his entrance first, then Dolph Ziggler, then Sheamus, and finally Dean Ambrose. Dean didn't fail to notice that Sheamus's eyes had been replaced with pointed daggers, slicing right through him as Dean bounced on his toes in his corner. _There might be blood in this match_ , he concluded. _Chances are pretty good, actually._

He did not object.

Lillian announced each wrestler's name, weight and hometown. Dean reminded himself exactly who he would be tearing apart within the next few seconds.

 _Called Roman out, made fun of us. Ambushed me just to split my team. Kidnapped me. Lured Roman to his near-death. Left me behind in a fucking house on fire. He and Orton worked together to bury Seth, put him in a coma._

 _Fuck this guy._

 _Fuck him straight to hell_.

He was ready.

Thrice the bell clangored.

Dean and Sheamus plunged headlong into one another.

Sheamus had the advantage of a greater force, and he toppled Dean, driving both sturdy bodies to the mat. Dean didn't allow himself to stay down long. He thrust a leg up before Sheamus hit him again, his foot making swift contact with the Celtic Warrior's jaw. Sheamus rolled onto his back. Dean moved to pin him. Sheamus kicked out before just one count. _Gotta tire him before that works_ , Dean thought.

After hurling Ziggler over the ropes, Barrett approached Dean from behind and wrapped his thin arms around Dean's waist, attempting to drag Ambrose to the ground. His undertake backfired as Dean slithered to switch places with Barrett, Ambrose on top now and the King beneath him. Dean consigned Barrett in a chokehold and drew his arms back as powerfully as he could to ensure maximum despair onto Barrett.

The submission hold was cut short when Sheamus rushed forward and launched a flying kick into Dean's face. Dean was knocked backwards, and Barrett scrambled to his feet. Dolph took revenge on Dean's behalf. He collided into Barrett with an outstretched fist, then tackled Sheamus to the ground, pinning the pale wrestler beneath his crushing legs, striking blow after blow into Sheamus's screwy face.

Dean allowed himself a moment in the corner to catch his breath and redeem his stamina.

* * *

Roman wished he could be there.

He'd tried, so hard.

But as much as he'd pushed himself through daily exercises, he found he couldn't make it all the way down the hall outside his room without pangs impelling him low to the floor. How the hell was he supposed to make it out of the hospital, into the airport, and on a plane off to WrestleMania?

He'd lamented when the nurse told him the idea was ludicrous.

So here he was, still stuck helplessly at the hospital, watching Dean take on three opponents—realistically, two, as Dolph was not leveling at him in any way—on a flatscreen TV like any other fan. At least he got a real meal to eat during the show: a grilled chicken sandwich, garden salad and iced tea with sugar. He'd told the nurse if she made him ingest another bite of applesauce, he'd throw up. She'd complied. She'd also let him use her membership to the network to watch WrestleMania.

Roman tried not to get too excited, pitch the heart monitor into overdrive, as he watched Dean grab Sheamus by the arms and fling him into the corner against the turnbuckles. Dean charged at Sheamus and knocked him against the ropes with an arm to the throat, then maintained this grip on his neck and towed him to the center of the ring, where he dropped Sheamus to the mat with a Bulldog. Sheamus wriggled towards the ropes, clinging to the middle like a life raft. Dean chopped him in the neck several times, then rushed back to gain a bounce off the ropes for a stronger attack. Sheamus countered this by darting out of the way and smacking Dean as he passed Sheamus by. Dean nearly flipped over the ropes, hitting the ground, but his hands attached to the top rope, keeping himself in the ring. Sheamus instead took a step back and charged forward again, kicking Dean in the head and finally sending him flying onto the cold hard ground. Dean's hands and knees broke the fall, and pain rode him like a shockwave.

Before Sheamus could hop the ropes and continue his assault, Dolph returned. He grabbed Sheamus from behind, hoisted him over his shoulders, and heaved the pale, bruised figure onto the mat. His knee pressed into the base of Sheamus's spine, and Sheamus flailed at the impact. He was left heaving and sweating as Dolph stood above him.

Dean teetered back into the ring, where Ziggler was keeping Sheamus on the ground with recurrent kicks to his middle half. He looked to Dean and grinned, waving his arm towards the fallen Great White as if to say, "All yours."

Dean hoisted the tranced Sheamus to his feet. He could hardly stand on his own. Dean finished him off with Dirty Deeds. Raised Sheamus's leg and held him there until the official made the final call. Dean Ambrose was called over the microphone as the winner of the match. Dean rolled onto his back and allowed a sweet moment of rest before lifting back to his feet, letting the ref raise his arm to a screaming audience, and handing over the Intercontinental Championship title. Dean hugged it against its body and kissed the gold plate, then held it high above his head with two hands.

Roman threw his arms in the air and ignored what stabbing pain surfaced in his back as a result. "That's my boy!" he hollered, clapping. He was so very proud of Dean.

Dolph wrapped an arm around Dean's neck and scrubbed a fist against his head. Dean patted Dolph's back in a job-well-done gesture. "Thanks for your help out there."

"I know it was your battle," Dolph said, "and I'm sorry if I took it away from you a little. But you need your strength for later. Can't have you exhausting yourself over this stupid thing."

It wasn't such a "stupid thing" to Dean, but he liked Dolph's thinking and couldn't have agreed more with the assessment. This Intercontinental Championship, as good as it felt to earn, wasn't why he was here today. The next two matches were paramount this evening.

Ryback and Rusev had the next match. Dean drew away from the crowd to prepare—physically, mentally, _and_ fashionably—for the match to follow that one. Him and Kevin Owens, for Roman Reigns's United States Championship.


	20. Chapter 20 - WrestleMania, pt 2

**Hey guys, part two of the WrestleMania volume is here for your reading pleasure! Watch how Dean Ambrose pays homage to his Roman Reigns in the battle for the U.S. Championship against Kevin Owens. Enjoy!**

* * *

Dean Ambrose grinned when Kevin Owens strutted down the walkway and the stadium erupted in hisses and heckles. The seemingly unfazed Owens crawled into the ring against the onslaught of negativity. He looked strange without the title belt slung over his shoulder. The Authority had reclaimed possession of both the U.S. title and the World Heavyweight Championship until the event was over and new winners were established.

Owens was armed with a microphone, of course, because the man simply couldn't enter the ring for a fight alone. He had to lecture the audience like he was a college professor first and foremost.

"It's been an interesting ride, as the United States Champion," Owens stated, pacing the mat like a cat. "I was getting close to longest-running titleholder of all time. I was a hero, a role model. Anyone who needed someone for their children to look up to, they could point to me and say, 'Kevin Owens, son. What a guy. He represents all that is good in the world anymore.' At least, I can say that for my children. But I speak this not as a selfish man, but as someone who wants to save the world one _broken_ wretch at a time."

Dean hoped on a level deep within him Roman would make a surprise entrance. Defy the odds, overcome the impossible, live out the unimaginable. Show up here today and kick ass. But that level was a neighbor to thoughts that his team would be united today, fight on their own—and together. It wasn't happening.

When Roman's music hit, Dean was ready. Naturally, spectators were confused when it was Ambrose sauntering out from the side to "The Truth Reigns" and not Roman. But Dean didn't think anyone was disappointed. Crowd members patted his shoulder, rubbed his back, took video and pictures on their phone as he passed them by. He proudly flourished Roman's "HIT HARD, HIT OFTEN" shirt. It was a little big on him, but he felt more comfortable in it than anything else he owned.

His ears perceived bewildered exchanges between Michael Cole and JBL. "Is that Ambrose? Is he roleplaying as Roman Reigns today or something?"

"Well, remember, Cole, Triple H _did_ say Dean Ambrose agreed to fight in Roman Reigns's place if Roman couldn't show up. I guess this means Roman is still in the hospital."

"What a brave thing for Ambrose to do today. He already had his match today, and it didn't look like he was going to survive that one."

"What are you talking about! Dean kicked some serious butt in that match, and he'll stomp on Kevin Owens today, too."

Dean slid into the ring between the ropes. Owens's eyes perused him disparagingly.

"Tell you what, Owens, why don't you put your muscles where your mouth is," Dean said. He didn't need a mic. He didn't care if the Universe heard him or not. These words were for Owens. "Shut the hell up and fight me."

Owens clicked his tongue, lips twisting into a devious smile. "Look at that. Ambrose is all dressed up like his buddy Roman Reigns. Isn't that sweet? Fanboy wants to make his idol proud. How come you're doing this, Ambrose? Is your boy still confined to a bed in an infirmary somewhere? That was _my_ doing, remember? I broke his back. Flipped him over and _shattered_ his spine."

A growl rattled deep in Dean's throat.

"And I'll do the same to you. Right now."

Owens dropped the microphone. The official snatched it before the device was involved in the duel.

Dean cracked his neck and smacked his hands, veiled in black gloves, together. He could hardly wait for Lillian to stop talking. These people knew who they were. Knew what the stakes were.

And perhaps also knew that Dean was going to wreck Kevin Owens, to a far worse degree than Owens had devastated Roman.

Thrice the bell clangored.

Owens was far less forward than Sheamus had been. He kept to his side of the ring, gaiting from one side to the other and back again, waiting for Dean to make the attack. Dean didn't know what the fighter had planned, but he wasn't going to play sit-down. That's not why he was here.

He was here to fight.

He was here to win.

Dean made the first strike. He grabbed Owens's neck from behind as Owens grabbed his. The two locked each other in this position and twirled as though they were dancing, not wrestling. Dean broke their graceful form, shifting his arm to entrap Owens's neck in the bend of his elbow. Owens was relentless in his struggle against the grip. He walked Dean towards the ropes and swung his body against them. As Dean ricocheted off the cords, Owens thrusted his fist into Dean's throat. Dean collapsed to the mat. Owens shouted like a child in early celebration.

Dean was up in the meantime. Would take a lot more than one hit to keep him down. _Channel your inner Reigns_ , he thought with an inward smirk.

He drilled his cranium into Owens's knees, propelling him to the mat. _Which of these legs was Roman attacking the other day? Right?_ Dean went with his first guess and wrapped his leg around Owens's, tucking his foot in the bend of Owens's knee, and falling to the left, yanking the muscle with him in a painful unnatural twist. Owens strived not to let the raid unsettle him. He moved to his other leg, trying to stand. Dean took hold of Owens's injured leg and fell to his own back, wrenching Owens to the ground on his side. Owens couldn't muffle his cry. It had hurt.

But he wasn't giving up.

Neither was Ambrose.

As Dean moved again to seize Owens's leg, Owens bent down and wrapped his arms around Dean's torso, forcing Dean's arms over his shoulders, his chin digging into the tip of Dean's spine. He thrust his chin into this tender area, then flipped Dean over his head. Dean's frame glided over the ropes, smacking against the solid ground. He slowly pushed himself up with his hands, but his knee throbbed. It had absorbed much of the fall. He shook his head, trying to free himself from the muddle.

Owens was on him. He clutched Dean by the shoulders and swung him towards the ring posts. Dean spun to the side before his head clouted the pole. He fell safely against the ropes instead. Owens super-kicked Dean, his head springing off the top rope. Dean wrapped his arms around the ropes, lifted his lower body, and punted Owens in the face. While Owens dropped to the ground, Dean pulled himself onto the mat. He was tired, sore. Spared about ten seconds while Owens returned to the ring.

Got an idea.

Dean looked directly into the camera, mouthed the words, "I'm borrowing this", and wrapped his fingers around his wrist. Moved them down and up his arm again in a swift motion, then knelt to his knees to punch the mat. He had faith Roman was watching.

From his hospital room, Roman grinned, swelling with excitement. "Yes!"

Owens returned to the ring on the official's count of seven. Dean was ready for him. He stampeded towards Owens, flew off his feet, and sent the Superman Punch into Owens's mandible.

Kevin Owens collapsed to the floor.

Dean shook his arms violently, circling Owens. He propelled his entire figure off the ropes and flew into Owens before the adversary could make a complete recovery of balance.

Dean pinned Owens. The ref counted to two. Owens kicked out. Dean shoved hair from his eyes and huffed. _I was sure I had him there. Just need a little more_ …

Both were on their feet at once. They exchanged blows to the head, back and forth, until Owens stupefied Dean enough to grab his by the HH/HR shirt and fling him into the post. Dean's head smacked against the pole this time, and Dean crumpled to the floor. Owens lifted Dean onto the ropes, balancing him securely, then kicked his bent knee again and again against the ropes. He grabbed Dean's foot and swung the knee at a near one hundred and eighty-degree turn, slamming it against the pole. Dean fell backwards, his feet still trapped within the ropes, dangling upside-down like Spider-Man. Owens took advantage of this vulnerable position, striking Dean in the chest, the jaw, and especially that knee. He seemed to pick up on how injured it was at this point in the fight.

Dean grabbed the bottom ropes at his sides and forced himself into a flip, his feet colliding against Owens's face. The tumble caused Dean to hit the mat stomach-first. He crawled towards Owens's fallen figure and attempted another pin. _One, two_ —Owens kicked out. Dean rolled onto his side, astounded and bruised.

Owens grabbed Dean and forced him to his feet. He held Dean from behind, one meaty hand over Dean's jaw, the other forcefully giving Dean's arm a shake. " _Hi, Ro-Ro_!" Owens sneered.

Dean thrust his elbow backwards, driving the bone into Owen's ribcage. He kicked Owens against the ropes. Not good for his knee, but the best defense he had. He threw his head back and cried out like a warrior, like _his_ warrior, Roman Reigns.

Owens barely got two feet situated steady on the ground before Dean Speared him back to the mat.

 _God, I love him_ , Roman thought.

Dean pinned Owens. That Spear had done it.

The ref struck the mat and counted to three.

The crowd arose in fresh acclamation as Dean rolled off Owens, eyes wide in incredulity, color drained from his face. He felt his jaw falling. He'd done it. He'd—he'd actually pinned Kevin Owens and beaten him.

The United States Championship was his.

Dean lifted to his feet with a clear limp in his knee as the ref threw his arm into the air, and Lillian welcomed him as the new United States Champion. The belt was placed into his arms, and he cradled it like a mother with her newborn.

He kissed the plate once more. Lifted it above his head. Pointed a finger at the camera. "For you, Ro," he said, licking his lips. "This one's for you."

Tears rolled into Roman Reigns's eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he was so proud of his Dean Ambrose.

Kevin Owens was infuriated.

He plunged a mighty foot into Dean's knee. Something popped. Dean bellowed, dropping to one standard knee and the other, in a yet known way, fractured. Owens stood up, booting Dean's knee again and again in hostile umbrage. It took several seconds and four or five backup officials swarming onto the mat to finally steer Owens away from Dean. He was left on his back wincing, gasping, clutching the championship belt to his chest with one arm and the other, gripping his knee.

Roman nearly sprung out of bed in a rage. Right then and there he would have traded his soul just to be there for Dean, to annihilate Owens for what he did. "You lost, you sick fuck," Roman growled. "Get over it. Come on, Dean, get up."

The original official dropped beside Dean, asking if he needed assistance. To completely defy the older man, Dean rolled up on his own and lifted to his feet himself. He didn't need help. If he needed help, he wouldn't be here today on his own, taking a stand—and a fall or two—on behalf of the Shield.

He steadied himself with the top rope and sighed. The crowd cheered him on and on.

The Authority's music blared.

The audience fell hushed. Flared up in hisses and boos as Steph, Triple H, and Randy Orton swaggered down the walkway.

Dean, still leaning on the ropes for a bit of support, stared each of them down in determined vexation. They couldn't get to him. Nobody could.

"Congratulations on winning the United States title, Ambrose," Triple H spoke. He wasn't smiling. Nothing was for show here. No appearances to maintain, no reputation to lift high as he could. He was still angered, rightfully so, at the drastic measures Dean had taken to earn himself these fights today. Steph still had scratches on her face from when Dean had knocked her out with that coffee pot. He hadn't wanted to hit her, but he felt he'd become a completely different identity that night. Someone who wasn't afraid to hit a woman. He didn't want to be that man ever again. He never wanted anything to happen to drive him to that mental state.

But he also hadn't regretted the thought of action alone to stand up for his team.

"You get a nice little break now. Might wanna go get that knee checked out. Doesn't look like Rollins is here, either, so if you think you can't hold up your end of that little deal, just say so and we'll declare Randy Orton the victor."

"Never!" Dean barked.

"Have it your way then, lunatic."

It was all he had to say. Steph and Orton upheld their glares, heads turned, as they sauntered with Triple H back to the shadows.

Dean's arms shook as he held both championship belts tight. Two down, one to go.


	21. Chapter 21 - WrestleMania, pt 3

**Part three of four, and you guys do NOT want to miss this! Warning, though: angst and hurt Dean to follow before an epic chapter finish..**

* * *

Michael Cole called it a hell of a day.

Neville defeated Stardust after a lengthy match with a Red Arrow. Big Show finished Mark Henry off with a Chokeslam. Ryback destroyed Rusev with a cradle suplex that left Rusev unable to stand for several minutes, to the horror of his dame Summer Rae. Team Bella lost against Team PCB, and New Day suffered a painful loss against the Prime Time Players for the Tag Team Championship.

Through every match, each loss and win, each cheer and frustrated sob, the entire night had been building up to Dean's match against Randy Orton.

He'd gotten checked out by the medical team. Although the staff could not say for certain, one medic believed Dean had a minor tear his meniscus. Dean was not crestfallen by the news. There wasn't much the team could do about it except ice the swelling area and wrap it tight in a bandage so Dean could still use his knee without it completely giving way.

"You be careful," one of the medics warned. "Orton sees you in this bandage, he's gonna be targeting it."

"He'll be targeting it anyway," Dean said, almost to himself. Orton wouldn't see the bandage through his black pants, but Dean hadn't a trace of a doubt that Orton had seen Owens's assault on him. The apparent limp in his walk following the match. Orton wasn't dumb. He knew.

Dean would just have to be the stronger man. One more match and it was all over.

Or was it?

He couldn't focus on the future. Had to pay attention to the present, the now. The consequences of tonight's actions would follow inevitably. Dean lived for it.

" _I HEAR VOICES IN MY HEAD, THEY COUNCIL ME, THEY UNDERSTAND, THEY TALK TO ME_ …"

The crowd welcomed Randy Orton wholeheartedly. Some were opposing the Apex Predator, but most favored him. He was accompanied to the ring by Stephanie and Triple H, but moved onto the mat alone. Steph and Hunter remained outside.

Randy scaled the ropes and held his famous viper's position. Women all over the stadium were falling in love with him.

Backstage, Dean hopped from one foot to the other, waiting for his provisional entrance music. He bowed his head and sent a prayer and good wishes for Roman and Seth's swift recoveries.

"The Second Coming" blasted behind "Voices". Hunter and Stephanie glanced out at the walkway, unsurprised when it was Dean approaching in place of Seth, who wasn't here. Dean was dressed in Seth's tight black t-shirt, vest, black pants and tall boots. He didn't look towards Hunter or Steph. His eyes were on that ring, on his opponent. Orton was smirking. Dean couldn't wait to knock it off his face.

He hopped into the ring before an irregular audience reaction. Everyone liked Dean, and they were certain to cheer for him over Orton (or, at the very least, over the real Seth Rollins), but at the moment, these folks were still unsure exactly what was happening.

Their opinion didn't matter. Winning did.

"The following is a No-Holds-Barred match!" Lillian exclaimed in her microphone. "Introducing, the challenger…"

Dean's throat closed up. "What?" he wondered aloud. He spun around, grabbing the top rope, peering down at Hunter and Stephanie. "Who the fuck said anything about a No-Holds-Barred match?"

Hunter's bottom lip jutted out in sham innocence. "We announced it last week on Raw. If you'd been there, you would have heard. We had no way of letting you know otherwise."

Dean huffed, shoved his hair from his eyes. The rule of a No-Holds-Barred match was there were no rules. Well, perhaps one stipulation: falls must be made in the ring. Other than that, anything went, including weapons and outside interference.

 _Goddammit_ , Dean thought, his inner voice louder than Lillian's over his name. _Goddammit, goddammit, fuck. But no, this doesn't change anything. I can still do this. I can and I will._

 _For Seth._

 _Believe that_.

No wonder Orton was smiling so fucking huge. This had caught Dean off-guard, as planned by the three of them, probably. But it was a two-way road. Free range for all.

Dean would beat Orton to death if he had to.

Whatever got him that championship.

The ref held it above his head, as though the crowd had already forgotten what exactly this match was for.

Dean raised his fists. _Bring it on_.

Thrice the bell clangored.

Hunter had stripped of his tie, suit jacket and undershirt before the match began, and now a shirtless Triple H was ascending the apron quick as lightning. He lashed his arms out and wrapped them tight around Dean's neck, pinning the Lunatic Fringe in place. Dean coughed and wheezed against the exertion on his throat. He kicked his good leg back, trying to hit Hunter where it would count. Orton made his approach. Hunter pulled Dean's arms back far behind him, and Orton sent a kick into Dean's trachea. Dean spurted. Orton hit him again. Hunter let him fall. Dean cringed on the ground.

Orton flipped Dean onto his stomach and took his knee in a painful twist. He knew, he knew, of course he fucking knew. The official landed beside Dean, waiting for Dean to tap out. Dean cried out a furious refusal to do just that. He wasn't quite sure how to wriggle out of this position, but Orton switched gears. He lifted Dean again and flung him like an arrow out of a dart into the ropes. Dean's midsection caught on the middle rope, and he teetered somewhere between still in the ring and out of it. Orton took his leg and swung it into the pole, his knee pattering on the post. Dean's pain was audibly and visibly apparent.

But he wouldn't give up.

Dean used his good leg to his full advantage, striking upwards, hitting the Viper in the jaw. Orton spun, in a bit of a stupor. Dean kicked him again, his functioning foot jabbing Orton behind the knee, bringing him down. It was stupid to attempt a pin on him so early, this strong, but he had to go for it. Sure enough, Orton kicked out before the official could even hit the mat and begin his count.

Dean moved to wrap an arm around Orton's neck, but Orton beat him to the attack, spinning Ambrose completely around and yanking him to the ground in a swinging neckbreaker. It had a greater impact on the Lunatic Fringe than Dean expected. He felt stuck, unable to lift to his feet right away.

But Orton appeared to be done as he slithered away from Dean Ambrose.

It was someone else's turn.

Triple H wandered into the ring, a sledgehammer suspended over his shoulder. Dean didn't even notice Orton's disappearance nor Hunter's approach until he rolled onto his back, his body pulsing with waves of torment, and his eyes opened to Hunter towering over him.

He didn't even have time to react.

With a ferocious holler, Hunter brandished his famous weapon of choice, flogging Dean with the face of the hammer again and again. He struck Dean's knee, Dean's hand as it flew to the knee to shield it, then his chest twice, his ribcage, and as Dean flipped onto his stomach to protect his midriff, the delicate realm of his fleshy shoulder blades and his long, leaning spine.

Dean didn't want to cry. Not at all. He couldn't cry in front of the Universe, in front of Roman who he hoped and prayed wasn't watching at this very moment. But moisture burned behind his pressed eyelids. His hidden pupils were drowning, his eyelids plump with salty droplets.

Orton paced about Dean in a circle as he watched Hunter carry on his assault. Triple H paused when the ref made a halfhearted attempt to get him to stand down. But the official couldn't do much, considering there were no rules, no disqualifications, no restrictions. Dean was a plaything and Hunter was a spoiled child.

Hunter tossed his hammer aside and heaved Dean to his feet. The guy could hardly stand on his own, not even on his "good" leg. Triple H flung one of Dean's weak arms over his shoulder, and Orton took the same form with the other arm. Together they cast Dean Ambrose behind him. His body hit the mat like deadweight. He wasn't moving.

Dean was tempted to go to sleep. Take a little nap. Call it quits. The pain was unreal. Hunter's ambush, not to mention the unexpected shift in matches involving weapons and his own intrusion, hadn't been an entry on the list of things Dean expected in this match. He should have anticipated a stunt like this, though, of course he should have. _Stupid. Stupid, stupid_ …

He felt an arm loop around his neck. Wasn't sure whose it was. _Guess this is it. Fucking cheated and they get their reward for it_ …

But something changed.

Even with his eyes closed, his mind close to checkout, he could see it, sense it. The audience was diverting their attention to something else. The announcers were asking different variations of the same inquiry: _who is that_?

A name stuck out to him above the commotion.

 _Rollins! Rollins! Rollins_!

Dean forced his eyes opened and looked towards the walkway.

Seth was there.

He was _there_.

Standing outside the ring, steady and still—alive, fucking _alive_ —watching in on the match.

Dean blinked. Was he dreaming? Surely he was. Seth was in a coma in an Oklahoma hospital. There was no way in hell Seth Rollins was there at WrestleMania.

But the announcers were losing their minds over his appearance, knowing as well as Dean did about the reasoning behind his absence, the reason Dean Ambrose was fighting this match at all. The audience, for once in their existence, was _celebrating_ his return. Seth was there, he was _there, he was fucking there in the stadium watching Dean fight_.

And he looked angry about the results so far.

Dean wanted to get up. Carry on in the battle. But this sense of enthusiasm was no match for his physical weakness. And Hunter and Orton, as shocked as they were to see Rollins there as well, weren't about to let them have a moment of celebration.

Hunter stayed in the ring with Dean while Randy Orton vaulted over the ropes and stormed towards Seth Rollins.


	22. Chapter 22 - WrestleMania, pt 4

***yawn* Hey, guys, it's me.. You probably already knew that, though.. *big yawn* *stretch* Sorry for the delay in updates. It's been a very weird week. But I was so determined to bring you guys the last part of WrestleMania! So here it is! Hope the ending of this one is satisfying! But don't worry.. This story isn't quite over yet. ;)**

* * *

Seth put the pieces together real fast.

Staying overnight at the hospital—per the doctor's orders and Roman's caring intents—had cost him many hours of travel time, but he'd finally made it with just under an hour to go in the event. He pushed through bystanders waiting in line for popcorn and meandered backstage until he found the entrance, the walkway. His presence was quickly registered as he rushed down the walkway. Seth realized in a panic that Dean's match against Orton had already begun, but something was up. What the hell was Triple H doing in this match? Why was he using a sledgehammer?

The puzzle clicked together in his head and revealed a gruesome picture. A street fight. No-Holds-Barred. No rules. These two could do anything they wanted to Dean, and evidently he was powerless to stop them.

Which meant, surely, _he_ was allowed to interfere.

Catching Dean in that eye contact made his heart spiral out of control. Witnessing that sort of violence on his best friend was devastating. He was ready to get in there and destroy Triple H _and_ Randy Orton all on his own.

Orton jumped over the ropes and charged at him. "Bring it!" Seth screamed. Seth surged at Orton like a rapid river. Orton leaped to send a flying punch into Seth's face, but Seth swooped out of the way to dodge the blow, and kicked Orton in the side charged by a leap of his own. Orton hit the barricade. Fans behind the black half-wall hooted and hollered that Orton was within reach of them.

Even though Orton had been swing dancing on Seth's nerves and patience for weeks now—in spite of the fact that Orton was responsible for burying Seth alive, responsible for his weeks in comatose—Seth didn't give a shit about Orton for the time being. He had to get into that ring and spare Dean another blow from Hunter's sledgehammer.

Seth sprung from the ground, his feet landing gracefully on the apron. Before he moved to bound over the ropes, Hunter pressed the neck of the sledgehammer flat against the nape Dean's neck. Looked up at Seth and snarled.

Seth licked his lips. Stayed still so not to spook Hunter into doing something stupid. "I'm here now, Hunter," Seth stated. "Let Dean go. This is _my_ match. Take me."

The corporate devil chuckled softly. He strengthened the force on his weapon, on Dean's neck. Dean's face contorted. "Seth," he managed, unsure whether it was a cry for help or a plea not to give into his instincts to fight Dean's battle.

"You hear me, you son of a bitch!?" Seth roared. "TAKE ME!"

Seth barely heard JBL holler: "LOOK OUT!"

Something struck Seth in the back, perturbing his spine. Seth dropped to his knees, hands still weakly grasping the rope. Orton had sneaked up behind him with a metal chair. He readied the chair for another swing. Seth catapult over the ropes to dodge the blow, rolling onto the mat.

He raised his head in time to see Hunter lifting his sledgehammer again.

Seth leaped like a pouncing jaguar at Dean, his body shielding Ambrose's just as the hammer came down, the weapon smashing into Seth's back instead of Dean's. Seth cried out at the pain, but pressed down against Dean tight, swathing his best friend with his own form. His breathing was rapid and spasmodic.

Roman watched from his hospital room, heart rate at an all-time low, two hands mashed over his mouth.

Hunter did not appreciate Seth's sacrificial attempts. He swung the handle of the sledgehammer beneath Seth's neck and heaved up, forcing Seth to rise lest he choke or break his larynx.

Orton returned to the ring, armed with his chair. Hunter pinned Seth on his feet against his own muscular form for Orton, the hammer's handle still on his throat. Orton swung the chair into Seth's chest, jabbed him with the legs, then brought it straight down onto his skull. Seth fell limp in Hunter's hold.

It gave Dean Ambrose a bit of time to recover his stance.

As Orton geared for another hit on Seth, Dean upthrusted his good leg high and smashed the back of Hunter's head in. Hunter twisted, stumbling forward, and the chair came down on his skull instead of Seth's. Seth wiggled out of Hunter's hold. Hunter hit the mat, and Orton watched appalled at what he'd just done unintentionally. Seth scampered back towards Dean, and they recuperated against the ropes.

"Get out of here, Dean," Seth demanded.

"I'm not leaving you alone with them," Dean huffed.

Orton's eyes were on fire. They fixed themselves on his targets.

"Go!" Seth ordered.

"This is my fight, too!" Dean insisted.

Randy claimed Hunter's sledgehammer as his own and drifted towards two-thirds of Shield 2.0 with aggression in his stride.

Dean looked at Seth. "How do we always do things, huh? How do we always get it done?"

"Together," Seth said, swallowing hard.

"Together," Dean agreed.

The wrestlers locked hands and charged forward, clotheslining Orton with their combined arms. Orton hit the mat, the back of his head smashing the firm surface. The Shield 2.0 members spun in time for their backs to bounce off the ropes, and together they jumped into the air and came crash-landing down on Orton's toppled frame. Dean moved to pin, but Orton kicked out at two.

Seth didn't let Orton stand up after the pin. He kicked Orton's face in, forcing Orton onto his back, then sprung into the air and came down with his elbow sticking out, drilling it like a power tool into Orton's neck. Orton spurted and wheezed, hands around his throat as he contended against the injury for breath. Seth fell to his knees, lowering to his belly like a snake, his adversary, and wrapped his arms around Randy's neck, trying to choke him out from behind. _Tap, you stupid fucker, tap_!

Hunter had recovered by this point. He bent down to lift Dean Ambrose into a staggering hold. Hunter lifted him high above his head, then hurled him towards the corner of the ring. Seth abandoned Orton and lunged at Hunter instead, but Hunter was ready for him. He seized Seth by the throat and launched him in the same direction as Dean. This gave Hunter a bit longer to gain a bit of his strength back, and recover his weapon. Seth gently towed Dean into the corner, leaning on the thick lines for a brace.

Hunter's eyes were locked on Dean.

Dean understood what Seth didn't. Hunter's target was him and him alone. He probably didn't mind very much that Seth was in this fight now, only looked at him as Rollins the obstacle. Hunter wanted Dean for what Dean had done.

Even if Seth didn't understand, he wasn't going to let Hunter touch Dean again. He moved in front of Dean, stretching his arms out and grabbing hold of the ropes behind him, serving as a protective cage for Dean. Dean winced and fought for breath in the thrumming pain in his leg.

"Move, Rollins," Hunter growled. "He's mine."

"No!" Seth said, defiant.

One side of Hunter's lips twisted into a mocking smile. He slowly uplifted the sledgehammer. "I'll put you in a sleep you'll never wake up from."

 _Get the hell out of there, Seth_ , Roman begged internally, watching the match on his toes, his eyes just inches from the large screen. He wished with all his heart he could be there. _Grab Dean and just run. Come on_.

"Go to hell, Hunter."

Hunter arched an eyebrow. Swung the hammer down onto Seth's shoulder. He felt the very obvious crack in his collarbone, a fracture immediately sustained upon impact. He screamed out and slumped to his knees, but his hands were superglued to those ropes, his arms were stiff and relentless in barricading Dean from Hunter.

Triple H smashed Seth's right arm next, then the left. Seth strived to hang onto the ropes, but his arms were useless after the brutal assault. His fingers were numb, his limbs falling limply at his side. Dean, once protected by Seth's unabating crusade, now cradled his injured brother in his arms.

Dean stared up at Hunter with black eyes swollen with tears. Anger gripped him. Fear absorbed him in a black cloud.

"What would hurt you the most, Ambrose?" Hunter queried. "To never fight again, or to watch me _destroy_ Seth Rollins's career right in front of you? I can make either happen. You're clearly not going anywhere. So make your choice."

Dean looked down at Seth. He wasn't unconscious, but Dean bet he was wishing he was. Back in the coma where nothing could hurt him. His eyes were squeezed shut, his lips wrung in a pained decline.

Hunter was right. Seth had taken a pretty nasty hit or two. Dean's leg was all but no-account. Carrying on would get them killed. Hunter was the true lunatic. He wanted even. He wanted Dean to suffer, all of them to suffer, but especially the man who'd kidnapped his wife and knocked them both out after forcing them to set up this match.

Randy Orton lurked in the background, waiting for any sign from Hunter to resume the onslaught.

Had they…lost?

Dean nearly punched himself in the face for conjuring such a thought. Dean Ambrose was not one to ever, ever, ever, _ever_ quit. He never walked away, never just left a match. Seth knew this about him. And he wasn't about to prove his best friend wrong in a dreadful and disappointing way. The only way he was going down was dead.

"Make your choice!" Hunter howled, raising his hammer above Seth's fragile skull.

"I choose him," Dean said, voice strained. "No matter what. And always. Seth is more important than anything else to me in this world." He nearly clarified, " _Him and Roman_ ", but he didn't want Hunter to have any more leverage from his personal life. "So fuck you, Hunter."

Hunter furrowed his brows. Prepared his hammer. "Seth it is."

Dean leaned far forward, using his tender upper back to block Seth's body from the impending blow.

But no such blow occurred.

Dean waited. And waited.

Still nothing.

But he heard the crowd scream over something like madmen.

He looked up.

Dolph Ziggler had entered the ring and was grappling with Hunter over control of the sledgehammer. Each had the handle in a death grip raised over both their heads. Dolph was clearly struggling to win this one. Orton was approaching, ready to strike Dolph in the back with the steel chair.

Dean had to interfere. Had to protect Dolph, too.

He left Seth behind him and tackled Dolph only to protect him, shoving him out of the way before the chair made contact with his body. Dean took the blow instead, his body collapsing to the mat. First Seth had taken a hit for him, now Dean was the sacrificial soul. "Weak," Hunter said, raising his hammer.

Seth pounced from his position on the ground, aiming for Hunter's legs. He successfully knocked Hunter off his feet. The sledgehammer flew from his hands, and Dolph recovered the weapon so Hunter could no longer use it to inflict pain. Dean was spared from the sledgehammer's bite, but Orton was still armed with the chair. This was sidestepped with a swift kick to Orton's knee. The chair still hit Dean, but only as Orton's grip loosened as his stance caved in. Dean pushed the chair off him and pinned Orton.

The ref jogged over. Hit the mat once.

 _One_.

Twice.

 _Two_.

Thrice.

 _Three_!

The bell clangored.

The volcano of an audience exploded with cheers and claps, hoots and hollers, whistles and screams and shouts of praise and adoration.

Roman quite literally flew for a few seconds, off his bed and into the air as he roared in victory for his teammates.

Dean sucked in an unbelieving breath, his eyes extensive and distending from the sockets. It took him a moment to remember what exactly had just happened, why, and what was to happen now as a result.

Seth and Dolph heaved Dean to his feet. Dean leaned on Seth for support, his tongue sliding through his teeth to express his fatigue. When Dean was situated in a balanced stance, Dolph drew away to let the brothers have their moment.

Neither Orton nor Hunter could get up at first. Perhaps it was the pain, perhaps it was damning, numbing incredulity.

"HERE'S YOUR WINNER OF THE WWE WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP!" Lillian hailed. "DEAN AMBROSE!"

The third championship belt was draped over Dean's shoulder. He hadn't the strength nor the vitality to lift it above his head as he'd done with the others. Hell, the very act of the official lifting his arm to dub him the winner hurt.

He wanted to go home. Right then and there, the belt wasn't as important as a nap in a safe room with Roman and Seth.

Seth wrapped his arms around Dean and squeezed him tight. _Oh, God, this is good_ , he thought. _This is so good_. He patted Dean on the back as Dean recuperated enough strength to return the hug.

"I love you, Ambrose," Seth said. "You did it."

" _We_ fucking did it, Rollins," Dean huffed, laughing like a hyena. "We fucking did it. Oh yeah, and I love you too and shit."

Seth Rollins and Dean Ambrose helped each other out of the ring before Hunter and Orton could take in the situation. Seth sensed it wasn't quite over with those two for good. But for now, yes, he wanted nothing to do with them for a moment more.

Michael Cole had been right. Hell of a day.


	23. A Quick Update: The Future of this Story

**Hello, my dearest, darling readers.**

 **First of all, thank you all SO much for your support. Not just with this story, but for all of mine. I'll admit, I was terrified to ever publish my work online in fear of nobody understanding my crazy little mind, or liking the stuff I pump out. Turns out, there's a lot of fans of angst and Dean Ambrose in peril out there! :) I seriously wouldn't have gotten this much done if it hadn't been for the encouragement and praise of my readers. So thank you. Y'all make me proud to be a writer.**

 **As you probably figured out by now, as fun as this story was, I haven't touched it in a few weeks. I've gathered ideas for where I want it to go next, but the scheme I've come up with deters from the original point of the story completely. WrestleMania was a good climax, and the healing process for the boys was a cozy resolution. Adding anything else, another subplot, more villains, will just stretch this story thin and distract from what it was really about all along.**

 **So I've decided to remove the last few chapters about the vacation and instead feature them in the next story, making this an official trilogy. The third story will be focused on Randy Orton's development as the enemy of the Shield, and the Authority's turn on all four of them. The chapter following this "chapter", this update, is the epilogue, and then when I've gotten some more details straightened out, I will begin the third story in the trilogy.**

 **I am SO PUMPED for it. I hope you are, too!**

 **And I'm also still working on requests. I've got several left to get through, which I will intersperse with updates to the third Shield 2.0 story as well as "More Than Words" and my own personal one-shots. Things are changing all around in my life, and I'm striving to keep up, but writing is still a priority to me. So thank you for your patience and, again, for your relentless support. My readers are the BEST readers.**

 **I will see you all very soon~**

 **-Sunny**


	24. Epilogue

There was an afterparty for the wrestlers at a nearby hotel, but Seth wanted to avoid it. He didn't wish to speak to anyone right away, though several wrestlers—Dolph Ziggler included—had taken the time to at least let him know they were glad he was alright.

It felt nice to be cared about for once by his fellow fighters.

But he and Dean needed medical attention. Seth was more sick of hospitals than he'd ever been of hotel rooms. At this point he'd gladly take two whole weeks in one single hotel room than have to stay at another hospital. He hoped this stopover wouldn't be a long one, and the very last one for a long time.

It was time for a well-deserved vacation.

He called up Roman initially to let him know where they were. The hospital kept them late into the night. Seth received a brace and a sling for one arm, and a cast on his other arm. Dean was lucky enough to only require a cast for his knee. According to the professional medical staff, it would take a good six to eight weeks for both of them to recover.

In any other circumstances, Seth would have been training to get out of these casts as soon as physically possible. But right now, he just wanted to rest. This served as sort of a doctor's note for the company. He'd get his time off.

As would Dean.

They deserved it more than anybody.

It was around three-thirty in the morning when Dean and Seth were cleared to leave, but Seth realized with a disappointed huff that it was too late to go anywhere else, so an overnight stay was really his only option.

Roman was two hours behind Seth and Dean's time, and upon texting him, Seth realized he was still awake. Seth asked Roman if he'd like to FaceTime as a delightful little surprise for Dean's sake.

The video call went through. Seth loved how bright Dean's face lit up as Roman filled up the entire screen of Seth's phone.

"Hi, baby!" Dean squealed, clearly uncaring in how his voice sounded. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. "He's awake, Ro…I know you already know that, but he's awake…" Dean leaned against Seth's shoulder, the one not encased in a sling.

Roman grinned. "That he is." With a shake of his head he mentioned, "Oh my God, it's so good to see you guys together like this."

"Soon enough, it'll be the three of us together again. Ugh, I can't wait."

"Can you leave the hospital yet?" Seth asked.

Roman rolled his eyes. "It's a complicated situation. I feel great, but my back refuses to let me walk any further than halfway down the corridor outside my room. A mind versus matter ordeal. It's frustrating."

"Then we'll catch a flight out in the morning and head back your way," Seth said.

"Yeah, I don't care how long it takes," Dean said. "I just want to be back with you."

"Me too. I really miss you. Both of you."

"When was the last time we were all in the same room together?" Seth inquired.

"Well, technically the day Ro and I left for Oregon. Of course, you were still checked out," Dean said.

"So it was in the car…" Seth said, his mind drawing back to the darkness. It hurt to think on that time so much. He blinked, and it was gone.

"When we were talking about going on vacation. That's still the plan, right?"

"Hell yeah," Roman said. "As soon as I can walk again, you pick the place, and we'll go anywhere in the world."

"Deal." Dean's mouth stretched into a yawn.

"You need your sleep, guys. I'll let you go."

Dean frowned, but Roman assured him, "Sooner you go to sleep, sooner I get to see you again."

"Yeah, okay," Dean mumbled.

"Oh, by the way, congrats on being a friggin' three-time champion in a single evening. I'm impressed."

"Boy, I'll say," Seth agreed.

Dean beamed. His dimples were pinch-worthy. "Thank you. Dunno what I'm gonna do with three belts, especially when two of them are supposed to be yours."

"We'll figure something out later," Roman said. "Let's not think about work right now."

"Or for a while," Seth recommended.

"Good night, guys. I'll see you whenever tomorrow."

"'Night, Roman."

"Good night, Ro. I love you."

"I love you too, Dean. More than anything in the world."

The call disconnected. Seth counted it a miracle the reception had been good enough to hold a call for that long. The stars were shining on them. At last the world was turning in favor of their needs.

"Guess I better get back to my room before the nurse trips out," Seth said, shifting to get off the bed.

"Seth?" Dean asked.

"What's up?"

"Could you…" Dean swallowed, as though debating whether or not to say what was hiding behind his lips. "Could you stay here with me tonight? It's just that, I just got you back and I don't want to—"

"Of course I can."

Dean had a certain mien to him now, one that Seth had never seen about him before. Vulnerability. Helplessness. Perhaps fear? Dean Ambrose was a wild and crazy kid. A relentless fighter. A powerhouse, a madhouse. But here, Seth was viewing him in a new light, a dimmer light, but one he could sense after knowing Dean for many years, watching over him, loving him…

"Want me to take this chair?" Seth asked, waving towards a seat in the corner. "Or…?"

Dean held out his arms. Seth lowered onto the bed again and wrapped him in a one-armed hug. He didn't realize how much he'd missed this, missed _Dean_ , until now…how good it felt to hold him, touch him, feel him like this as though it wasn't wrong on any degree…

How he thought this would be easy was an enigma.

"I missed you so much," Dean whispered in his ear. He pressed his face into Seth's shoulder. The hospital gown was immediately wet where Dean was. Tears seeped through his eyelids onto the material.

"I missed you too, Dean." Seth drew out of the hug. It was the single hardest thing he'd ever done in his life, against every single match he'd ever taken part in. "I'll take the chair." Dean was emotionally compromised. Whatever he felt right now was triggered by loneliness, by that vulnerability, put him out of whatever right mind the Lunatic usually sustained. If Seth did anything to take advantage of Dean in that state, he'd be a real bastard. And Dean—Roman—they'd never forgive him.

He'd gone to hell and back to get their trust. He didn't want to blow it.

Seth tucked Dean into the bed, then planted a tender kiss on Dean's forehead. _Means nothing_ , he lied to himself. He grabbed himself a blanket from a cabinet, then tucked himself into the chair. It wasn't comfortable. He much preferred the cramped bed, snuggled up against Dean.

But it couldn't happen.

Maybe pre-coma. When the world was just as reckless as he was. But now, he had to work on making a change.

He was done making sacrifices for his own gain.

Now it was time for a self-oblation.

He had to turn around completely, cover his head with the blanket, when Dean shifted and the entirety of beneath his hip was exposed under the thin hospital gown. Seth's heart hammered and a lump swelled in his throat.

"Good night, Seth," Dean said. "I'm so glad you're here."

"Me too, Dean," Seth said, squeezing his eyes shut. Never again would he pray to go to sleep and never wake up. Been there, done that. "Me too. You have no idea."

* * *

Dean hated crutches after one use.

He and Seth checked out of the hospital in the morning and drove to the airport. It was a bitch just getting from the rental car to the terminal. Hurt like hell. He was lucky to have Seth, who allowed Dean to use him as a much more comfortable crutch when Dean so badly wanted to hurled his metal mobility aids across the airport in a seemingly-terroristic deed. He hated feeling so useless, like he _needed_ anyone for anything.

"How long did the doc say to be on these things?" Dean asked, getting situated. Seth let him have the window seat.

"Four to six weeks before a checkup," Seth said, wincing. "I'm sorry. It sucks, I know, but you'll be alright."

The flight was average. Dean was feeling too restless to sleep, so he stared out the window, at the billowy clouds the plane sliced through, thinking of his three belts. A three-time champion in a single evening: Dean Ambrose! He felt like a superhero. Obviously he couldn't hang onto those titles forever. He didn't deserve _all_ three. Seth and Roman needed theirs. They'd worked hard, too. And he figured the company would find some way to confiscate them from the Lunatic. Some policy they _happened_ to forget about, or another lame excuse to rid Dean of the three belts. All was well, though. He wondered how to get them to Seth and Roman, how they could "earn" the respective championships.

Getting off the plane was worse than the battle to get on. Getting pushed by rude folks who couldn't wait patiently for the line to trudge along. Stranded behind others who didn't seem to know how overhead compartments worked, or their own two legs. Dean hadn't felt this bitter in a long time. He just wanted a nap. He wanted the pain in his leg gone without the aid of medicine.

But he had Seth. Thank goodness for that. At one point Dean nearly tripped over his own crutch, and Seth held onto his arm to prevent the fall. Seth didn't let go until after they'd finally broken free of the mob.

"Have a wonderful day, and thanks for flying with us," the pilot said.

 _Suck it_ , Dean thought.

"You okay?" Seth asked in the jet bridge.

"Hanging in there," Dean groaned. Feeling this helpless was perhaps the _worst_ endurance. Physical pain, he'd take any day over unavailing endeavors.

"I think things are about to get better," Seth said.

Dean was about to ask him what he meant when they stepped into the airport and caught a face in the crowd.

Roman Reigns.

Roman was waiting for them in the designated area. His back was secured by a thick brace, but he was _standing_. He was there, there waiting for Seth, waiting for Dean, smiling proudly at his beloved.

"Roman!" Dean cried. He moved quicker than his crutches, practically abandoning them as he hobbled towards Roman in a rush. Roman unfurled his brawny arms and enveloped Dean in a tight and overdue embrace.

"I missed you so much," Dean said, voice muffled as he pressed tight into Roman.

"I missed you too, Dean," Roman said. He kissed Dean's hair, then drew from the embrace to sink a kiss on his love's lips.

Seth let them have their moment. _I'm happy for them. Look how happy they are_. He _was_ smiling, a surprise to his own.

Roman looked to Seth next. It was the first time they'd seen each other in person, alive and well.

"Fancy meeting you here," Seth said.

Dean gasped as he realized Seth and Roman had planned this surprise out. For Dean. Seth knew Roman would be here. Of course Roman had known from Seth which flight was theirs, where to wait. What a surprise.

What a family.

Roman took Seth in a hold of his own. The brothers held each other, smiling, laughing, and inevitably fighting tears. Seth gently patted Roman's back, far above the area still on the road to a full recovery.

"Hey, buddy," Roman said, touching Seth's hair.

"Hey, Ro," Seth said. _God_ , he'd missed him.

Dean limped towards his family, his friends, his everything. "Together again," he said. "'Bout fucking time."

Roman laughed, and opened his arms once more to take both of them in a hug. All three embraced, and onlookers stared. Some admired the moment. Most had no idea what the hell the three had been through. But the crowd did not exist to the members of Shield 2.0. All that existed in their world was each other.

Shield 2.0.

Unstoppable.

Indestructible.


End file.
